Silent Strangers
by cookiesruletheworld
Summary: After being forcefully removed from Camelot, Merlin returns several years later a very different person. Merlin/Arthur
1. Chapter 1

"Merlin?" it's a cautious whisper- loud enough to be heard and yet soft enough to not wake the other knights, all of whom were rolled up in their capes like giant red worms and spread around the fire in a perfect octagon.

Merlin briefly wondered if sleeping arrangements were covered in basic training.

"Merlin? That you?"

And he had almost made a clean escape of it...

It was Gwaine, propped up on one elbow with his cape draped almost artistically around his shoulders, who had spoken up. Merlin, though he could not see his face for the darkness, recognized the outline of his scraggly hair by the blood-red dregs of the fire. Ironically enough, Gwaine had a reputation for being the heaviest sleeper of the lot, though he did always seem to have a sort of talent for keeping one eye firmly on Merlin during these types of trips.

Damn him and his caring.

"Err, yeah. It's me." he called back with his own cautious whisper.

"What are you doing?" By the weakened light of the fire Merlin watched his arm rise and fall lazily in replacement of a vertical shrug.

"Just...just off to pee." he gestured oh so innocently behind him into the forest with a grin, ever the clown, away from the warm, quiet campsite.

Gwaine grunted, apparently appeased, and flopped back down, wriggling slightly to find the most comfortable position he could while lying on a bed of dirt and grass.

Turning to walk away from the steady lull of warmth and towards the chilling autumn air, he tugged his handkerchief higher up on his neck and breathed into it, burrowing his nose deep into the pocket of hot air. Hopefully with any luck he would be able to return to the fire, and to sleep, before too long.

Seven of Camelot's finest plus their fearless prince (and his ever-present man-servant) had been dispatched quickly when scouts discovered a group of bandits attempting to exit the land. Loaded down with the kingdom's stolen goods that they intended to pawn off, the group had been easy to catch up to; but after two full days of travel, Arthur bid his tired men rest, planning an ambush for early the following morning.

Merlin didn't usually do things like this.

Well, disobey orders, yeah...

…but take on the land's most dangerous criminals all by himself in the dead of night? Not usually.

But he had his own reasons: as usual, he knew something that Arthur did not.

The scouts had not known the significance of what they saw, but Gaius had. As soon as he heard the men describe their findings in the throne room, he knew the real dangers they -or rather, just Merlin- was up against. The knights described the men they had seen in great detail. One particular description – a tall man with cropped silver hair, white stubble powering his face like snow, and steadier hands than a man at that age should have that clutched a cane he clearly did not need for walking purposes – stirred a deep recollection in Gaius.

It just so happened that this particular man was the leader of these bandits and, as usual with the goings-on in Camelot, there was more to him than met the eye. He was a powerful sorcerer called Gregor the inventor, and he indeed lived up to his title, for he was the creator of magic's most recent, and often times darkest, potions. So powerful was his magic and so cynical was his soul that he had taken great precautions in order to preserve and protect his life. He placed several potent and complex enchantments on his own body to ensure that he could not be defeated by any non-magical being, poison, or blade.

Gaius promptly warned Merlin that he must go with the knights in order to protect Arthur- not that it was particularly challenging to get included in the party. Nowadays Merlin was practically expected on missions of this kind. Who else was Arthur willing to trust to cook all the meals and clean all the pots? Besides, none of the Knights could handle being the butt of every. Single. Joke. Not like Merlin, anyway. In fact, getting permission from Arthur proved to be the easiest part of the whole affair for when Merlin had asked him he'd simply scoffed "Course. I thought that was obvious. You don't to get to laze around all week while I'm off defending Camelot, _Mer_lin."

But either way, it's not like Gaius had to persuade Merlin to protect Arthur. Merlin would have protected him even if it wasn't his destiny, even if it wasn't written down in history or in the stars or wherever the hell these things are written down. Arthur, whom Merlin had loved since he'd known he was gay- or perhaps even before. He'd do anything for him.

At the very beginning he'd had nothing but annoyance for the prince's pomp, arrogance and alarmingly short temper. But as time went by he couldn't pretend not to notice the way he truly cared not only for his people and his land, but also for those beneath him, those others neglected- the servants and cooks. He was fair and just and kind. He had such an extraordinary responsibility pressing down on his shoulders; it was incredible that it didn't sink him right down into the ground under his feet, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He smiled and joked right along with the rest of his men while at the same time keeping a firm grip on their respect and loyalty. They would willingly follow him to the gates of hell itself. He was a true leader, and Merlin had not a single doubt that he would guide Camelot into brighter days and times of peace.

And there was no point in ignoring his –ahem- numerous physical aspects. The sweeping blonde hair, smooth skin and perfectly defined muscles...it was enough to make anyone go weak at the knees. This, unfortunately, created quite a few embarrassing moments for a blushing Merlin, seeing as he helped the man undress every day. Not that Arthur ever actually noticed. He was way too preoccupied with Gwen, and that was good. Merlin loved Gwen dearly, and she was a good fit for both Arthur and Camelot. Merlin didn't allow himself to be deluded into any sort of romantic fantasy involving himself and the prince, not even for a second (as hard as it was). He knew his place and he was happy to stay in it: right by Arthur's side… right where he was needed… up until he wasn't anymore.

But he was plenty needed at the moment. As usual, it was up to Merlin to defeat the bad guy and save Camelot; just another day as servant to the Prince.

Make breakfast. Check.

Clean armor. Check

Muck out stables. Check.

Polish boots. Check.

Singlehandedly defeat bandits.

Save Camelot.

Make dinner.

Of course, Merlin didn't have to defeat _all_ of the bandits, a thought that anyone else might find alarming, but he found rather comforting. All he had to do was sneak to the edge of the camp and take out one man- a quiet, preemptive strike that would leave the rest of the men leaderless and chaotic. Easy in, easy out. He'd be back to bed within the hour. Not only would it be a piece of cake for him, but tomorrow morning the rest of the criminals would be easy pickings for the knights.

Finding and tracking their trail was easier than Merlin had dared to hope, even in the darkness. Crushed plants, broken branches, and marks on trees all lined a wide trail made by a lavishly large wagon; the deviants had supposedly traded stealth for speed. When Merlin had first stepped foot in Camelot he had known nothing about this sort of thing, but the frequent hunting trips with Arthur had proved to be less useless than he originally thought. They had taught him more than he had realized.

But it was more than that. Merlin would have been able to follow this trail had he been blind. Even though he was still several kilometers away, he could feel the tug of powerful magic like a hook attached to his shirt, gently pulling him in the right direction.

He did not know that this connection went both ways.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough it lead him to a good-sized clearing, on the outskirts of which he knelt beneath the cover of some low lying trees, a respectable distance from their set-up. He rubbed his stiff fingers together and scrutinized their camp. He could see several small tents as well as the wagon he had suspected of barreling through the woods, probably stuffed to bursting with valuables. Though, in actuality, it was even bigger than he had originally expected. Hooked up to a line of six horses it was like a huge wooden box on wheels and looked big enough to fit maybe nine adults in relative comfort.

There were no men around, all having presumably gone to bed. There remained only two guards sitting outside one of the bigger tents.

Excellent.

A smile spread across his face like warm butter.

He loved it when things were made easy for him.

With a quick spell and a quicker rock they both slumped over, unconscious. It left his path to the tent, and to Gregor, blissfully clear.

He settled more comfortably in his little nook next to the tree, breathing in the brusque air. A little good fortune and he could work all the magic he needed from right where he crouched.

He should have expected it. It was just too easy.

He reached down within himself, fingertips just brushing comfortingly against the swirling, golden magic. He raised his hand and drew a deep breath, incantation on the tip of his tongue when _wham!_

Something hit him sharply in the back of the head.

The world went black.

The tallest man nudged the boy with the toe of his boot, digging it into his cheek and turning his head so they could all get a good view of his face.

"N' he's really magic, then?" he spoke gruffly after letting the boy's cheek fall limply back to touch the forest floor.

"S'what Gregor says," another replies.

A humorless chuckle. "Looks like he finally gets ta use one o' does fancy collars he's been boasting 'bout."

"Think 'e's alone?"

"A scrawny boy like 'im? Wondering around in the woods alone in the dead o' night? Nah, there's bound to be a group of 'em not far off."

"Do'ya remember 'em imperial scouts we saw the other day? Think 'e's with 'em?"

"Do you see a Knight's amour on 'im, idiot?"

"'E could have taken it off, _idiot!_"

"Enough! You 'n you!" presumably the highest ranked of the group, a stout but muscular man with beady eyes and a permanent scowl on his face pointed to two other lackeys "get his hands 'n feet. You!" he pointed again "Go fetch Gregor. 'N you!" he pointed a third time "go warn the rest of the men; we're moving out in an hour."

When Merlin awoke it was to darkness, uncomfortable heat, and rhythmic swaying. He was lying on his back on hard wood. When he tried to sit up, his head banged painfully into what felt like another head, and he was roughly shoved backwards by a set of clanking hands.

Ohhh, his head… it had already been throbbing _before_ he had slammed it into someone else. It felt as if it had been clubbed with a log.

Actually, looking back, he thought, that probably is exactly what happened.

"M'sorry," he mumbled without conviction, wincing at the pain, as he waited for a reply that never came.

Blinking furiously, he tried to raise his neck enough to see what was around him, only to feel something thick and heavy encircling his throat and sitting upon his jugular.

What? A collar? He laid his head back down, but brought his hands up to inspect it. And it was only then that he realized his hands were shackled together with thick cuffs around his wrists.

The confusing fog of ambush and sleep around his brain scattered instantly as real heart-pumping adrenaline-fueled panic rushed in to replace it.

He scrambled to a sitting position (ignoring a groan and another half-hearted shove) and squinted, trying frantically to see his surroundings.

But he could already hear just fine- the clopping of several horses, the ominous swing of many chains, and by the time he could see it only confirmed what he desperately hoped he was wrong about.

He swallowed despite his dry, parched throat as, slowly, the black-on-black shapes began to develop outlines…human outlines.

It was hot and cramped, but Merlin shivered. Feverish skin and sharp elbows pressed in on him from all sides, but Merlin's insides were caked with ice. There was a sickening smell of sweat, urine, and greasy, unwashed bodies.

Merlin felt sick.

He had been right about the wagon…it could fit about nine men in relative comfort…

…or about twenty if they crammed.

The precious goods these men were hauling, the ones they meant to sell…

These men weren't just bandits…they were slave traders.

_Excellent._


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry if there are any typos. I did not go over it as much as I should have. On the plus side, it's twice as long as the last chapter!

* * *

He had not felt panic before. Not like this.

Writing, burning, snakes of fire filled his stomach. He was desperate, on edge, burning to move, to escape, to, fuck, do _something._ His beating heart pumped not blood but burning acid through his body. Every second was a year. Every moment he sat there, doing nothing he spiraled deeper and deeper into despair and fear, and

_Panic. _Panic like he'd never experienced before.

It wasn't because he was shackled and chained. It wasn't because he was forcefully condensed into a space that by all rights should only fit half of him, and carted off in a distinct not-Camelot direction. And it wasn't because he was friendless and sword-less and shield-less.

It was because he was magic-less.

He was only an adequate swordsman, and he had gotten by without too many friends for the majority of his short life so far. He was independent and very used to taking care of his own problems. He didn't rely on those things, and their absents did not bother him…unlike his magic.

He felt like a small child all over again: stuck in a problem too big for him to deal with by himself. Though, childhood problems didn't tend to be life or death.

And unlike a child there were no parents, or anyone, for that matter, that he could turn to for help.

He was quite clearly and quite firmly stuck.

Both literally and figuratively, as he quickly discovered, because it that was pretty hard to move in his current physical position. He was crowded into a corner of the wagon, the top of his back and neck resting on the stiff wood where one wall greeted the other. The door- firmly shut and latched was on his right. His legs, tented high at the knee, lay out in front of him, hands chained together and resting obediently on his curled stomach.

There was someone's calf lodged firmly in the gap between his knees and the floor, and though he couldn't actually see it, every once in a while a desperately large foot connected with his side as its owner tried to stretch out in their close knit quarters, so he knew it was always hovering nearby. At first these things bothered him greatly, as they were a source of tremendous annoyance, but after a few hours it just became normal. So what if there was a full grown man pressed so tightly to his side that Merlin was practically kissing his cheek every time he turned his head? Nobody was comfortable, and he took up just as much room as everyone else.

Despite all the outward distractions, he was much more concerned with what was going on _inside _his body. He had made exactly two-hundred and four attempts to reach his magic…

…none of them successfully.

But it wasn't like he had too much else to do. They had traveling for two solid days and their captors hadn't exactly provided any entertainment.

That is, unless you counted watching your fellow passengers by the day-light that managed to squeeze its way through the cracks in the wood-slats. If you were lucky you could maybe see someone defecate in their grimy pants, or maybe watch one of the smaller ones cry themselves to sleep, clinging desperately to their parents –If they were fortunate enough to have one along.

Merlin did not find this entertaining. Instead, he found it quite motivational.

_These people need me._

He let his eyes close and tried to block out all sounds.

He ignored the shuffle of bodies, and the rustle of captivity. He ignored the rumbling stomachs of the hungry and the steady clip clopping of hooves that every moment brought them further from home.

_These people _need _me._

He breathed in deeply, and cleared his mind (much easier said than done in current situation). He dove down into his own body, searching for that heart-frenzying trill of power, the comforting and familiar warmth of his own abilities, of what he _knew_ he was capable.

He'd just never had to try so _hard_ before. Magic had always come to him so easily, like breathing or blinking. He just did it, it just… worked. He'd been able to move things with his mind before he could even speak and now…

Now when he desperately needed it, when he concentrated and pushed and strained with _everything,_ everything he had, everything he could give…

Bam. He was stopped. He couldn't go any further. It was very much akin to walking at full speed into a glass door. He could _feel_ his magic like warm, magnificent sunlight on the other side of the glass, he _knew _it was there. He could _see_ its brilliant golden glow… but he couldn't touch it. He couldn't reach it.

He pressed himself against the glass. He tried to go through it. He tried to break it- throwing a fabulous inner tantrum that any two year old would be proud of, balling his fists with the extent of his mental efforts. When neither of those methods worked, he tried going around the proverbial glass, over, under, to the side, only to find that it extended indefinitely in all directions.

And he tried again, and again, and again and again, until he thought he would go stark raving mad from effort and strain. He was mentally exhausted. It was like spending two solid days on a single maths problem, one that apparently had no answer but was crucial to solve.

His head pounded. His heart pounded. His blood pounded.

He'd never felt so completely useless. So expendable. He'd always been able to pull though, to solve any problem, to conquer any evil for the benefit of others. But not now.

He was looking into a tunnel, and he could see no light.

_These people need me._

_Arthur needs me._

And quite frankly, at the moment, he wouldn't have said no to a bit of help from Arthur.

It was extremely frustrating, suddenly not being able to do something that always came so naturally. Like having a stubborn itch that wouldn't scratch, or being told over by your teacher that two and two was, and always had been, five. It was like attempting to lift your arm with all your strength and not being able to and not understanding _why._

Except of course, Merlin knew why.

It was that damned collar.

He had had ample time to examine it thoroughly with his shackled hands, though due to its location it was physically impossible to see it with his own eyes without the aid of a mirror.

It was solid and heavy and covered all around in runes, none of which Merlin recognized, but it was so difficult to tell just by feeling the engravings with his fingers.

What's more was that he had felt along every inch of the metal and had felt no clasp, seal, fastening, weld or anything of any sort to indicated how it had gotten there. It was completely smooth 360 degrees around. It was like it had just slithered as a great metal snake onto his neck of its own accord and seamlessly attached itself to its own tail. It was like someone had removed his head, stuck the circular piece on his neck and reattached his head. There was no physical way it could have conceivably been put there, and any half-hearted attempts to remove it were fruitless.

It stunk of magic.

It hadn't exactly been a difficult leap. Magic collar, magic boy… evil sorcerer, unusable magic.

Between futile and exhausting attempts to lift an amputated limb, Merlin tried to talk to the other prisoners, but made, if it was possible, less progress there than he did with his magic. None of them responded- one older woman went even so far as to shush him violently, one finger pressed tightly to wrinkled lips.

At least he knew _why_ he couldn't use his magic. He had no idea why these people were so determined to cooperate quietly as they were pulled away from their lives.

He soon found his answer… but afterward he rather wished he hadn't.

It was one of the smaller ones, Merlin could see him not far from where he sat, bearing a dirt-caked face clean only where tears had left pale streaks.

Clinging to his mother's equally dirty frock, he couldn't have been a day over nine.

"Shhh, now hush," her voice was soft and loving, her hand soothing on the boy's matted hair, but it was her eyes that gave her away. They darted towards the wooden door in quick bursts like she was waiting for it to burst into flames.

The others soon began to turn and stare, unforgiving; like this was some sort of hallowed library they were disturbing. Merlin looked away instead. _Let the boy cry_, he thought.

He couldn't blame him- it was as if his wails spoke for the same pain inside him. He hadn't eaten since he'd dinner round the campfire two days ago- who knows when this poor boy's last meal had been. His cramped muscles burned like they were sizzling on coals, an unquenchable fire – the ache to stretch was thick and palpable. It was hot and humid. It was smelly and uncomfortable. He was tired and scared and tired of feeling scared. He had no idea where he was going, no idea what was going to happen and no idea how he was going to get back to Camelot.

And if his mother had been there, he'd have clung to her too.

"Hush up, boy!" a tall and subsequently very contorted and grouchy man with heavy stubble and gnarled hands who was nearer the boy snarled and grabbed at his leg, shaking it furiously like a father about to administer punishment.

"You leave him be!" the mother snarled back in an equally frightening voice, as the wails escalated. She snatched her child closer to herself like she could absorb him right into her chest.

The whole wagon halted so suddenly that Merlin's head banged backwards into the wall at the force of it.

There was the thick sound of metal scraping on metal, the clicking of a large lock. Those closest to the door pressed backwards, away in frigid anticipation. Then there was the great bang of wood, and suddenly the darkened room was filled with a brilliant light.

Merlin didn't wait for his eyes to adjust and they stung with pain as he watched the scene unfold, like he was staring directly into the sun itself. But He was so glad to see light that he didn't care.

He didn't even notice the figure standing in the doorway, not till it spoke.

It was a stout muscular man with a shaggy brown beard; obscuring the full passage of light through the door. One hand was on the doorway, the other holding a cruel looking whip.

There was complete silence- even the boy was quiet, having stuffed his own fist in his mouth to muffle the sobs.

"…Who's making all the noise?" it was a deathly quiet question, the way a dog growls deep in its throat before lunging.

Nobody answered.

"What's that, then? Nobody?" he gave his whip wrist a little reflexive twist "Weren't so quiet in here a minute ago, was it?"

"No, it weren't," a voice behind him answered, though the man it belonged to was hidden from view.

The man looked back at his comrade and nodded in agreement "it's right funny, is what it is," he said, beginning to stroke his bushy facial hair with one hand while a wheezing laugh bubbling up from the back of his throat "Coz you know how the boss likes his silence."

Well he would have been glad at the moment, because nobody so much as breathed. Merlin doubted their heartbeat's even made noise.

"Well then," he said, shaking his head sadly "if nobody's gonna fess up….I guess we're gonna have to make an example." His hand shot forward as he grabbed hold of someone's unfortunate arm.

Immediately the shrieking started as he dragged her backwards.

It was an old woman, the one who had shushed Merlin earlier. Her grey hair wisped about her face delicately as she clawed at the air, desperately trying to burrow back into the mass of hot bodies in the wagon.

Her arm was just a bone with wrinkled and blotched skin stretched around it. She looked like she could barely survive the journey, let alone a whipping.

"No, no please!" her voice was not as weak as her body as she begged for mercy

The very same boy began to cry again, though silently now.

His mother's eyes were sad, yet bright, and firm. Merlin could easily read her intentions on her face. If she had to sacrifice this stranger to save her son, then she would. She would not go in her place, not while she had a boy to protect. He was her top priority and if others had to die so he could live, so be it.

And nobody else seemed very eager to volunteer.

"No," he hardly recognized his own voice. It was like a rusty hinge, weak from non-use. He cleared it and his next words came strong and loud and unmistakably, almost foolishly bold.

"It wasn't her," he said, straining to see the man around a bent elbow that partially blocked his view of the door "it was me," he volunteered "I…I was crying."

The man's head swiveled slowly to glare at him, one eyebrow raised as the old women's loud wails dissolved into small whimpers.

"You?" his disbelief was evident.

Merlin glared back, his chin raised in defiance, eyes set and fists clenched.

He was pulled forcefully from the wagon- the others shrunk back easily, and nobody said a word as he passed.

***Four Years Later***

**King Arthur leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers. He was so exhausted. He'd barely hit the pillows last night before George, his faithful manservant, was in to wake him. And it had been like this all week long. He'd gotten maybe ten hours of sleep combined in the past two weeks. **

"**Victory is supposed to be easier," he muttered under his breath as he held back another yawn with sheer force of will. **

**A step behind him and off to the right, Leon chuckled. **

"**The worst of it is over, my liege. Just a few more loose ends, then we can finally put this war with Morgana behind us.**

"**I don't know if I'll ever be able to put it behind me," he sighed heavily and dragged one hand across his worn face "I'd just settle for some sleep at this point." **

**Leon gave another chuckle "And you'll have it." **

**The doors to the throne room opened slightly, enough for a head to emerge- Percy's head, to be exact. Arthur looked up and smiled when he saw the familiar face. "Percy," he said gratefully "**_**Please**_** tell me you have good news." **

"**Some," he inclined his head as his body filled the doorway "Jarin and his patrol has finally arrived. They bring the last of the war prisoners from the western sector. It's completely cleaned out now." **

**Arthur straightened up in his throne and double checked to make sure his crown sat properly on his head. He'd been King for over a year and half now but it still seemed new and daunting at times- like when enemy soldiers who hated your guts, along with the most important military leader, who also hated your guts, were all brought in before you.**

"**Excellent. Bring them in." **

**Percy propped the heavy doors open, then stood to the side, hands clasped in front of him. **

**They didn't have to wait long.**

**Jarin came in first, brown hair wind-blown, but face glowing with pride. He knelt before his king with a dramatic sweep of his hand. **

"**My Liege," **

**The corner of Arthur's lips twitched slightly as he bowed his head in greeting "Sir Jarin."**

**He was one of the newer soldiers, knighted just this past year, but even so he had proved invaluable during the last few months of the war. He was leading his own squadrons while his peers were still in training. **

**But he was still very young and therefore very eager to prove himself. Sometimes this resulted in rather rash or harsh decisions that the older, more experienced knights would not have made. Even so, he showed an enormous amount of potential and Arthur had no doubt he would grow to be one of the finest knights in Camelot's history.**

**Jarin stood up and stepped off to the side "these," he said, turning toward the door expectantly, "are the last of the enemy soldier from the west." **

**And then they filed in, one by one. **

**Not only were their hands cuffed in thick iron, they were also connected to their bound feet. Each man was chained both to the one in front and behind him, forming a morose line. As they shuffled in, head's bowed and eyes downcast their jangling manacles made a sort of horrible, eerie melody.**

**Arthur, no longer sleepy, tried with every fiber of his being to project the perfect picture of the fearsome, stately king they no doubt saw him as. **

**Arthur took a deep breath as they lined up, horizontally, in front of his seat. Though his façade was calm, he was rather anxious inside. Deciding the fate of these men – of all the enemy men for that matter – was not a task he enjoyed. **

**Sometimes being king could be a royal pain. (BA-DUM TISSS)**

"**No doubt you are very concerned about what your fate will be today," he filled the silent room with an authoritative and regal voice as he eyed the first man in line on his left. His hair was dark and short; his hunched shoulder and drooping limps screamed of exhaustion. His black uniform had once held the gleaming white tree as a symbol of his allegiance to morgana, but now it was barely recognizable for the mud that covered his body. **

"**I assure you," he continued "that I am as well. This unfortunate war has been the cause of much spilt blood, too much blood." **

**His eyes slid onto the second man. He was in very much the same condition; only his hair was scraggly, unkempt and blonde, gathered in a long ponytail at the base of the neck. **

"**If I can help it," his eyes continued onto the next man, who in turn was looking down at his beaten and worn shoes "We can avoid any more death." **

**The third man in line was different. For one thing, he was the only one not wearing the knight's uniform. He was instead in baggy gray pants, and back shirt with a deep V-neck. His black hair fell in curls about his stuck-out ears. Rather familiar stuck out ears…**

"**And if we can…work together…" Arthur slid down a bit lower in his seat, and strained his neck at an oddly low angle, trying to get a good look at the man's face. Behind him Leon made a stifled noise and to his left Jarin stared in open confusion, but Arthur took no notice.**

"**We can avoi…..**_**Merlin!"**_** He shot out of his throne at the time the man looked up and he saw immediately that he had been right. This was Merlin! He was older and his hair was much longer. He was tired and dirty and clearly a little more rough around the edges but…**

**But he was **_**alive.**_

"**Merlin!" Arthur, eyes wide in shock, stumbled forward, hands shaking as their eyes met. **

**It was Leon's turn to stare, but this time in awe.**

"**Merlin!" Arthur was out of breath when he finally stood in front of him, hands grasping his thin shoulders "I…I thought…you…We all thought you were **_**dead!**_** I-I don't –how…? I don't believe this!" a surprised smile, the likes of which had not been seen for four years, graced his lips.**

**Merlin remained silent, eyes humbly downcast. The only indications that he had even heard the king was the fact that he was biting down hard on his lip and his blue eyes began to pool with clear tears. **

**Jarin, a small chuckle in his voice, stepped forward. "Sire," he said, trying too hard to keep his voice light, his arms held out from his sides in confusion "you- there must be some mistake. This man was found in the first lieutenant's tent itself! Surely you don't-"**

**Arthur hushed him with a wave of his hand. His eyes searched for Merlin's and when he wouldn't return his gaze, Arthur lifted his chin with gentle, gentle fingers. **

**There was complete silence.**

**And then Arthur – the once and future king himself – was **_**embracing**_** this shackled and filthy man while the other inhabitants of the room – knight and prisoner alike- watched in disbelief.**

**Merlin was completely stiff, completely unmoving, and completely foreign. **

**When Arthur pulled back, his wondrous face held tear tracks identical to Merlin's. **

"**Well- it- it is you, Merlin, isn't it?" he asked, a slightly desperate edge coming into his voice. **

**Merlin nodded, a puff of restless air and an almost inaudible whimper escaping through his lips, his eyes still having trouble staying on Arthur's.**

"**I-" he shook his head, still not believing what he was seeing "Say something!"**

**And when Merlin remained quiet…**

…"**Merlin, please," he exclaimed grin slipping just the slightest bit.**

**So Merlin raised his chin and opened his mouth. **

**And kept it that way. **

**At first Arthur's shocked brain couldn't process what was going on, what he was supposed to be looking at exactly, why Merlin's mouth was wide open yet he said nothing. **

**And then he saw it. **

**Attached to the bottom of Merlin's mouth was a red and angry looking little stump.**

**His tongue had been cut out.**

Merlin would have been grateful for the stretch of his limbs had he not been so completely terrified. Liquid panic seemed to fill his body and drown him from the inside out. He felt the blood rush though his veins, heartbeat by heartbeat. He had an overwhelming urge to _run._

But a thick rope was already looped around his cuffs, the other end held by a guard who was grinning, knotting the rope and gazing up at the branches overhead. Merlin watched as he threw the knot up and it swung directly over a thick branch. One swift tug and his arms were yanked up over his head, practically out of their sockets.

Though he was faced toward the woods he could hear movement behind him, footsteps as the men approached, eager for a show.

There was a loud rip and a rush of cool air on his skin as the back of his shirt was ripped open, collar to hem. For a moment Merlin felt a burning fury.

His shirt! This was the only thing he owned in the entire world at the moment – apart from his pants and his neckerchief. They didn't have to go and rip it…

But he didn't have too much time to mourn the loss of his clothing because just then he heard a hush go over the men gathered behind him and he knew that it was about to begin.

One.

Even though Merlin had braced both his body and his mind, there was no way he could have fully prepared himself for this pain. Reflexively, his hips shot forward and his back arched in, anything to get away from the pain, like lightning across his back, leaving his skin burnt and black. Eyes widening, he sucked in cold air though hollowed cheeks- such a stark difference from the fire on his back. He didn't have time to fully recover from the blow before-

Two.

He didn't want to give them any satisfaction, but it was so hard to stay silent. A breathy cry fell through his lips. The pain was exquisite, as if someone had pressed a white-hot poker to his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, squeezed his fists closed, and ground his teeth down on his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, salty and metallic.

Three.

Looking back, he doesn't remember his knees giving out, just that all of a sudden his wrists were under a great pressure and he looked down to see his knees slack. The toes of his shoes anchored him to the ground and the branch above him held his weight.

Four.

Even though his tongue lay firmly between his teeth, like a rabbit caught in a trap, he grunted when the whip bit through him. The blood spewed from his mouth in tendrils. He could feel an obstinate drop clinging warmly to his chin. He let his head hang down. He breathed heavily, in and out quickly though puckered lips, cheeks puffing out and caving in with each breath. It helped some.

Five.

It was now that he was able to recover enough from the initial shock of pain that the sounds of the world swam through the muddy air around him and finally got to his ears. The men were watching and laughing. He heard a few of them make girlishly high-pitched squeals and it took a moment before his brain caught up and he realized that they were imitating –

Six.

Merlin wasn't sure which was cracking, him or the whip. Even the air that touched his back was too much. Even the oxygen that pressed against his skin caused a hot, sharp, pain, like a knife being twisted.

Seven.

It was a monster. Great and terrible, its silver talons dug mercilessly into Merlin's tissue delicate skin and ripped it to shreds. Warm blood washed over his back, baptizing him into this new life of sharp pain and bitter hate.

Eight.

He was so weak. So useless. He couldn't handle it as he thought he could. He wanted it to end.

_Please…let it stop…_

Nine.

Stars burst at in his line of vision, winking at him like his only friends in the world. The edges of his vision went dark and black. He could feel nothing but the fire of coals on his back. Every nerve in his body was concentrated on this impossible pain.

Ten.

And then it was over, and Merlin was gasping for air like he'd just learned to breathe. His lungs and throat were parched and dry and filled with hot sand. His back was ablaze – the skin felt ripped and ragged and throbbing. Even the slightest movement of the fingers shot pain coursing through his body, directly to his back.

So he stayed motionless.

The men around him guffawed stupidly a few moments more, but the taunts soon melted away, just as the pain in his back also melted down to a simmer, a throbbing dull ache that was subdued so long as he stayed statue still.

So Merlin concentrated on the forest floor.

Soon cool fingers were at his neck, plucking at the neckerchief there and tugging at its knot. It released its hold around his neck and fell away in another's grasp.

But then it was back again.

He had thought the pain was over – it was so unexpected and so potent that he couldn't help the sudden, strangled moan of agony that burst from him.

Neck snapping up, his hips once again twisted away, causing new tremors of pain.

There was a withered old chuckle "Yes… It's something, isn't it, boy?"

The coarse fabric raked over his ruined skin.

He let his head fall forward, a dull whimper shook from trembling lips. His eyes were drooped and still fixed on the ground.

The blood was being scrubbed from his back, his wounds being cleaned. He might have actually mistaken this as an act of kindness if it weren't for the words he heard next.

"Take this," The voice was quiet, old, and yet somehow deathly.

There was a small noise of exchange.

"My, Lord?" this was a new, young voice. Uncertain, but eager to please, yet Merlin didn't miss the fear that lay under it, flavoring it like fat to meat.

"Place it… far away- east of here, between Camelot and Dartmoor. Then meet up with us at the south peak, after the drop off."

"My Lord."

There were footsteps as the man retreated.

"That'll keep those pesky Camelot soldiers off our trail, now won't it, Emrys?"

He'd never felt quite so alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! sorry that this took me so long! Ten million and twelve thanks goes to Aseptic, my wonderful wonderful beta who literally slaved away over this.

Enjoy!

* * *

'As slavery goes,' Merlin decided after a week in his new home, 'it could be worse.'

'Could be worse' he yawned to himself while contemplating the taste of early morning on his tongue as he rose along with the rest of the men.

'Could be worse,' he reminded himself as breakfast disappeared in two mouthfuls.

'Could be worse,' he panted to himself as his sweaty, blistered hands raised the heavy pickax again and again and again.

'Could be worse,' he muttered to himself through a dinner that he quickly learned to not examine before pushing it down his eager throat.

'Could be worse,' he sighed to himself as he flopped back onto his mat, winced, and then rolled onto his stomach.

After all, there were worse things in life than scarce food, back-breaking work and monotonous routines. Hell, he'd even been given a new shirt.

Routine.

That was certainly the word to sum up his new life.

At least he could count on each day being the same as the last. If there was one thing he hated it was surprises. It was no wonder, too, because in Camelot, "Merlin I have a surprise for you..." really meant "Merlin I have an exhaustingly long list of chores for you spend your day doing..." and that was on a good day. Bad surprises went more along the lines of "Merlin, Arthur's the assassination target of several very irate ogres- surprise! You have twenty-four hours to save him." He counted it a blessing to be able to wake up in the morning knowing exactly how strong he was going to have to be to make it through the day.

Besides, he knew there couldn't be too many more of them- he was just biding his time here. There was not a doubt in his mind that Arthur was looking for him. The fake trail might have thrown him off a little, but Arthur was the best huntsman in Camelot. Knowing that each day might potentially be his last gave Merlin the strength to get by.

Each day, the men rose as soon as the sun's rays tickled the sky- sometimes before. While both men and women all slept together in the same, long, wooden hut, the women were always still asleep when the men headed out. Hugging their frail limbs around frailer bodies, they curled up into themselves, lying on identical threadbare mats that disguised the hardness of the floor, but did little to lessen it.

The center of the room held a pathetically small pile of wood and a single grated fire, around which all of the mats were feverishly clustered. But unless you were laying next to the glowing flames it did little in the way of providing warmth, and the shoddy wooden walls hardly stopped the autumn wind that all too often cut through the hut.

As they stepped from from the chill of inside the hut to the fresh, biting cold of the outside, each man was handed a pick ax and roll of bread. The bread always disappeared quickly – not only to curb the desire of empty stomachs but also so that frozen boney fingers could be stuffed into sleeves or under armpits; anywhere they could find a bit of warmth.  
But the cold didn't bother them so much. A few moments of work would warm them up soon enough, and then the chill was sorely missed.

A squad of sleep deprived, sour-looking guards then walked them along a memorized and well-worn path. One behind the other they lugged their bodies and pickaxes through rocky wastelands under the guards' watchful and sadistic eyes. Together they formed a slow and twisting caterpillar, and watched as their own hot breath rose above them and hung in in the air as steaming cotton puffs.

After sleepy feet fumbling over four miles of rocks it came to Merlin's least favorite part of every day.

It was time to say goodbye to the sun.

Merlin always closed his eyes when he did it. Somehow the separation didn't seem so bad if he did it on his own terms. He tilted his head up a bit so that he could feel the light warm his face. And if he couldn't… at least with his eyes closed he could imagine that he did.

Then there was a rough shove behind him, because he had stopped moving to have a few more seconds in the sun, forcing him to stumble that inevitable step forward. He let the cool darkness slip like a hood over his eyes.

And then it was time for work.

**A bath.**

**According to Arthur that was first on their list of priorities, after freeing him from the mess of chains that had entangled his frail body like a cocoon.  
Well, almost all of them.**

**The collar still coiled stubbornly around his neck like a gleaming silver snake. **

**It seemed odd and out of place now that Merlin had forgone the rest of his clothing for the luxurious silk bathing robe that had been offered to him by the King of Camelot himself.**

**He stood there, clutching the thing around his otherwise naked body as he watched and listened to the goings-on.**

**Apparently, he'd thrown the castle into quite the uproar.**

**They were in an empty bedroom chamber usually reserved for noble guests. It was only one door down from the King's room itself. Merlin watched as three separate, faceless maids scurried around the room like ants whose nest had been flooded. One was lighting a fire while another snapped soft linens expertly tight around the mattress. The third carried over a stack of towels that were thicker and fluffier than any blankets he'd slept under for the past four years. Merlin sucked on his lower lip and fingered sleeve of the ruby-red silk as the bustling maids brought a wave of nostalgic memories.**

**He himself had lit that same fire and changed those sheets a million times before, heated Arthur's water and laid out warm towels for him to step into. **

**Arthur, who had exchanged his crown and armor for a simple shirt and pants, was currently arguing with George.**

**It was weird to think about George waking Arthur up every day, making him breakfast, cleaning his clothes… Merlin had no doubts that George did a good job, but it didn't make him feel any better. He knew things had changed, that the castle hadn't come to a grinding halt without him, but having it all pressed into his chest like this was strangely disheartening. **

**"Sire," George had been reduced to begging now, hands clasped in a plea, eyes chancing a swift glance at Merlin, who in turn glanced away. "It's degrading," He insisted, eyeing the rag that Arthur had clutched firmly in his right hand. **

**"Please, Sire, allow me. I assure you, nothing would bring me greater pleasure…. I will see to his every need, you mustn't worry. I insist. It's not proper… my Lord…"**

**Puffing out his chest dramatically, Arthur looked down his nose at the boy.**

**"If the tub's full, George," he said dismissively, waving his hand toward the door.**

**"Just… the last bit of it…" George indicated the lone jug, steaming peacefully near the fire.**

**"Excellent, thank you, I've got it from here." His tone made it clear that he was speaking to everyone in the room.**

**The three maids scurried cooperatively out the door like mice but George lingered, moving toward the door at a snail's pace, and looking back at the pair of men mournfully. **

**"Sire….please…" he tried one last time "it's indecent… your father would never have allowed-"**

**"That will be all," he enunciated forcefully before slamming the thick oak doors shut with a bang, practically on George's nose. **

**There was an eerie silence. Merlin watched, awkward and unsure, as Arthur came over to pour the last of the water into the small, circular, tub. **

**Arthur's sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms and Merlin couldn't help but notice the muscles thickly padding his arms. While he could not have be described as weak when Merlin had left, he had still been a boy. Now a man stood in front of him, clear by the strength in the movement of his body. Merlin watched as the steam rose into the air, licking sensually at the tanned skin on his forearms.**

**He shook his head to himself.**

**He hadn't even been in Camelot five hours.**

**"Today," Arthur said to him over the splashing of water "It's my turn to be your manservant."**

**There was a playful sort of grin hovering over his lips, one which Merlin did not return.**

**Three days ago he was sucking the first lieutenant's cock.**

**Now the King of Camelot was going to give him a bath.**

**Unbelieveable.**

Dinner was quickly distributed before the trek home, and even more quickly consumed. When the men stumbled back under a dusky sky, the only thing waiting for them was a barren room and a fire choking on its own ashes. The women were never there upon their return. Merlin did not know where they went or what they were doing, nor did he care much. He had in the beginning, though.

When thoughts of rescue weren't plaguing him, he was sick with curiosity. He'd asked a few of the other less-menacing looking men – the ones without permanent scowls or didn't have a reputation for stealing food from the smaller men, but the responses he got were disappointing at best. The only answers he could glean were vague and unhelpful; variations on "they're working," or "away." The rest of the time his only response was a grunt, even a condescending, "don't worry about it". He couldn't tell if they didn't know, or if it was some sort of secret that a select worthy few had privy to.

But Merlin deemed himself worthy, and the more the answer hid from him the more determined he became to find it. When simply being inquisitive failed to satisfy the burning lack of knowledge that sizzled in his stomach, he took matters into his own hands. Upon coming home one night, instead of groaning, stretching out his arms and jockeying for the best position near the fire like the other men, he'd sat up stubbornly on his mat, arms crossed, face grimaced.

He was determined to stay up until they came back, determined to find out if he had to stay awake all night. His fingernails dug sharply like needles into the skin under armpits, keeping himself uncomfortable and therefore, theoretically, awake. But even sitting up, shivering against the cold and grating his teeth against his lip until he tasted blood, he had fallen asleep in under five minutes. All he had to show for it in the morning was an extra sense of frustration and a fat lip. After that, days of hacking away at rocks for seven consecutive hours turned out to be the perfect cure to his curiosity.

Now it was just a fact of his new life: the women were there when they woke up, gone when they fell asleep.

The work was hard, unrewarding and exhausting. Time chipped away as slowly as the rock under his pick-axe.

Silver.

That's what they were looking for, silver and lead and copper, sleeping away under the blankets of the earth. Or rather, anything that might potentially be one of these precious metals.

Merlin, hardly growing up surrounded by glittering, pretty things had only encountered such jewels after he started dressing Arthur in them. Although he quickly became adept at telling them apart, that was when they were cut, polished and sparkling.

Here, chopping at narrow walls with hardly any light, it was nearly impossible to tell an ordinary rock from a precious one. In the end, he just kept anything with a bit of color in it -tossing it into his collection box.

Luckily, they got fed no matter the amount they collected, however pitiful. No-one ever seemed to score a large haul though, for it seemed the cave was very old, and had already been picked over more than once.

That wasn't to say, however, that his work was for nothing. He began to notice a pattern where a bigger haul meant a slightly larger dinner, and he refused to believe that it was a coincidence.

It was just one of the few rays of light Merlin was able to seek out amidst all the black.

Something else that gave Merlin hope was the number of the prisoners: he estimated that there was one guard for every fifty or so workers.

That meant two eyes to watch one hundred swinging arms, two eyes to keep track of fifty bodies spread out far into the slender and winding passageways of the cave. It almost came without saying that a certain amount of leeway was inevitable. Like others, He could take a few moments while no one was watching to lean against the cold stone and catch his breath. Or he could go to relieve himself and take longer than was necessary, using the stolen time to stretch out sore limbs, examine pussy boils on his palms.

While each guard was armed with a whip and a sword, they were scarcely used. One was likely to get a kick in the shin or a cuff on the back of the head for any number of offences (including the guard simply being in a bad mood) and maybe a single whiplash if you moved too slowly. However, Merlin hadn't been whipped since that day in the wagon and for that he was grateful.

The first few weeks were the worst. After the stomach shrunk to accommodate the smaller meals, and the palms grew thick calluses in response to the axe swinging, and the muscles got used to such daily abuse… it was tolerable, if only because he knew he wasn't going to be here long. It was the only thought that could get him through the day- this situation was very temporary.

Surely, Arthur was looking for him.

Surely, despite that damned fake trail they had laid with his neckerchief, they were on Merlin's trail right now.

They could come at any moment… after all; they'd never failed him before, and Merlin didn't believe they would start now.

Sometimes he stared so hard at the horizon he could see Arthur's sword flashing in the sunlight, and his heart was skip a beat.

They would find him, save him.

Then he could go home and sleep properly and be warm and have real food… it was enough to make his insides curl in anticipation.

But until then…he could wait here.

Well, maybe he could meet them halfway.

Either way, he wasn't going to stay here much longer.

-  
**Merlin eyed the tub cautiously, as though he was reluctant to get clean.**

**He turned a wary eye to Arthur, but did nothing to break the silence. Arthur stared back, uncomprehending, until Merlin gave a quiet sort of cough behind one hand, the other tugging sheepishly at his newly acquired robe.**

**Arthur blinked once, cheeks gaining a tint of pink. "Oh. Right. Yes. Of course. Sorry. Yes…" and he turned to face the wall, giving Merlin his privacy.**

**Arthur heard a light shift as the silk puddled around Merlin's feet. **

**He'd never admit it was on purpose; but whether by accident or decided curiosity, or maybe even simple concern for a friend, he turned around too soon.**

**Merlin had always been thin, lanky muscles spread over a tall frame.**

**But he had been healthy.**

**He had been strong.**

**What Arthur's eyes graced over now made his stomach fall clear away from his body.**

**As soon as he had seen, he whipped back around, eyes shut tight and heart slamming against his ribs. Shivers traveled down his spine like icy spiders. Like plugging your ears and humming upon hearing bad news, Arthur wanted to pretend he'd never seen it, to forget altogether … but he knew he'd never be able to forget this image. Even now, with his eyes shut tight it was emblazoned clearly in his mind, and suddenly he was torn between the urge to run out of the room and the urge to turn around and have a second look.**

**Merlin had been lowering himself into the tub, one gnarled and thickly calloused hand gripped, white knuckled, on the edge of the tub. Above his wrist a wide, red, bloody bracelet was etched into his very skin as a last goodbye kiss from the shackles that had embraced him. His other hand cradled his torso in a fashion that made Arthur suspect bruised ribs. His entire chest was completely painted, splattered in a vast arrangement of blue, black and sickly yellow like an abstract picture.**

**Still facing the wall while he tried to digest what he'd seen, Arthur heard Merlin groan like a man four times his age, half in pleasure, half in pain, as the water swallowed him whole. Swallowing thickly, Arthur made no move to turn even though he knew Merlin sat fully in the warm water, not until he hear his throat clear pointedly. Then, smile desperately trying to hold a smile, he turned towards the boy in the tub. Merlin's back was to him, and the lace-like bubbles only covered about two-thirds of it.**

**Arthur's smile faltered.**

**Long, thin, reedy scars covered his back like leaves blanket a forest in autumn. Layer over layer, his back was a mess of scar tissue. Pale, white and rigidly swollen above his skin they crisscrossed, weaving a tapestry.**

**It was as if hundreds of willowy roots had burrowed into the once-smooth skin of his back. His flesh pulled tight over them and they stuck out disjointedly like pursed lips.**

**As Arthur approached, he saw the tension fell away from Merlin's limbs, as the threat of vulnerability was overtaken by the luxurious feeling of the hot water against his skin.**  
**To Arthur's credit, he didn't let any of his emotions show.**

**With a deep breath on went his King mask, the one he used when unexpected and uninvited nobles turn up, and Arthur was forced to play happy host.**

**_Why, we are so delighted to have you as guest in my castle! What's that? No, no, you know you're always welcome in Camelot!_**

**And then he would go and tell the kitchens they needed double the food in half the time.**

**His smile was sewed onto his face with burning thread.**

**Merlin turned his head, now looking over to Arthur, blue eyes wide and inquisitive.**

**A inquisitive cock of Merlin's head and Arthur felt a flush of anxiety, and he wondered if perhaps Merlin caught him staring. **

**But he didn't seem angry, so Arthur mentally steeled himself before he stepped forward and crouched down on his heels near the edge of the tub, near Merlin's shoulder. **

**"It's good to have you back, Merlin," he said, a bit quieter, perhaps, than normal as he took Merlin's arm, lifted it out of the water and –gently, for heaven's sake, gently- began to lather it.**

**Merlin gave a small smile, and craned his neck to the right in order to stare at Arthur.**

**Arthur had a hard time looking back at him. **

**He kept busy with Merlin's arm.**

**"Things are…" he gave a light chuckle "well a bit different, obviously."**

**There was a musical trickle of water as Merlin rose his free hand, and tapped the top his head, one sly eyebrow rising just a bit.**

**Arthur's own eyebrows dipped. "What's that, now? Oh, yeah, well, I guess that is the biggest change isn't it?"**

**He wasn't sure that it was, but put the debate from his head as he stole Merlin's new arm and, keeping it upright, rubbed soap from wrist to armpit.**

**"It happened about…eighteen months ago." It was hard to continue. He isn't usually expected to carry on the conversation- he's much better at just nodding and smiling- but if he shuts up, Merlin won't talk and he can't stand the idea of silence. **

**"Father couldn't… well. He had a hard time of it after Morgana-" he cut himself off and leaned over Merlin's shoulder to fetch a better look at his face "I don't suppose you know about what happened with Morgana?" **

**Merlin inclined his head.**

**"Oh. Well, good. Anyway," he continued his methodical cleaning "After her betrayal… well. I think he gave up a bit." He sighed as he dipped the rag into soapy water near Merlin's middle. **

**"I tell you, it's not been an easy first year, what with the war and everything." A sarcastic snort. **

**"Actually… if I'm being honest…" He sighed from the very bottom of his toes. He wasn't even scrubbing anymore, just rolling the rag from hand to hand absentmindedly, eyes downcast.  
Merlin turned around in the tub, curiously, so that they sat face to face.**

**"It's been a hard… it's been hard since you left Merlin. I…I really missed you." **

**He seemed to realize something, and he frowned deeply, the rag now twisting and twisting under his fingers.**

**"Not that I'm trying to make myself out to be some sort of hero or anything, of course… I just…I mean it was hard, because…because you were- still are- my best friend and I missed you… and everything…but obviously, it's not like I…I mean you've been through… well, of course I don't know, I just assumed… I mean I have eyes…not that I was looking or anything… I guess I was just curious and…not that I'm trying to pressure you into saying…of course you don't have to… it's very personal…I'm guessing again, of course…****_Shit_****, Merlin." **

**The rag was completely tossed aside, and it landed with a thick wet slap on the stone floor as Arthur's hands abandoned it to rub his temples instead. **

**Finally, he looked up.**

**Their eyes met.**

**Arthur reached out with trembling fingers. **

**Merlin watched his hand, tired and wary.**

**Slowly, they bump against the smooth metal collar, the only remaining smooth part of Merlin's entire body, the yoke heavy on his shoulders. His fingers lightly traced the outline of a rune.**

**"These collars," he said in a voice that is almost a whisper. Merlin looked away, down into a tub that suddenly seem icy and endless despite the steam rising from it's shallow depths. **

**"We've seen them before once or twice but we never had to try to-"**

**Merlin shied away toward the other end of the small tub. It's only a few more inches of distance between them, but somehow it feels like a lot more. His hands wrapped around his emaciated arms, holding himself.**

**His pain is Arthur's undoing.**

**The mask slips.**

**Falls.**

**Shatters.**

**Arthur's kneeling now, hips and thighs pressed up against the sides of the tub, leaning over the water towards Merlin. His hands grip the edges on either side to keep his balance.**

**"Merlin- Merlin," he assures quickly in a low voice, "it's okay." **

**He gives a small smile as his head dips so he can look at his unreadable face. One hand stretches out to touch Merlin's jaw, delicately. **

**A nagging part way back in his brain wonders if he's crossing some sort of line.**

**But Merlin is here, so he doesn't care.**

**"You don't have to pretend anymore, Merlin. Gaius told me everything."**

**Merlin's eyes lift towards Arthur's, clearly skeptical. **

**It makes Arthur's grin broaden, and suddenly he wants to laugh out loud and he's not sure what's wrong with him.**

**They're too close, now.**

**"A year after… well, after, we all thought you were dead and… he came to me- he was so scared, Merlin, he was nearly shaking, but he said it didn't matter anymore because you were gone so I might as well know the truth because he owed it to you to tell me… and he did, Merlin, he told me everything. About your magic, and how many times you've saved my ungrateful arse- saved Camelot, for that matter, and how you never got any credit ever... I was mad at first… but…" his eyes stare into Merlin but they are looking far, far away. "…he was, err, very convincing. He made me swear not to tell my father…"**

**Merlin looks at him, blinking with astonishment, eyes wide and shining and bright with emotion. Arthur gives a short chuckle, low and wavering, at his incredulous expression.**

**"And I just want you to know it's okay. You're still… you. You don't have to lie anymore… and I know the collar takes your magic away because we've seen them a few times before, on druids. We've never been successful at taking one off yet, but we've never really tried properly…"**

**He nods, more to himself really, than to Merlin.**

**"But don't worry," he says, sparkling teeth flash in a genuine smile, "We're going to get you your magic back."**

**And suddenly Arthur is both wet and warm, because Merlin has risen to his knees in order to throw his arms around him, burying his face shyly in Arthur's unsuspecting neck.**

**He blinks, mouth slightly open in surprise.**

**Then he's hugging Merlin back, and he's so thin that with their chests pressed up against each other his arms can practically wrap around the other boy and come back to touch his own rib cage.**

**If he squeezes hard enough, Merlin might just snap in two.**

**The entire front of his shirt, as well as both his sleeves, is clinging damply to his skin, dreadfully uncomfortable…but he doesn't care.**

**His cheek is pressed into Merlin's overgrown and dirty hair.**

**He closes his eyes to block out the world, because at the moment…nothing else is important.**

**And there's a strange sensation that's squeezing his heart so painfully he thinks it will burst in its grip.**

**It's guilt.**


	4. Chapter 4

I want everyone to know that this would NOT BE HAPPENING if it was't for Aseptic, my beta, who is completely amazing and way more patient that I deserve. You should go read her stuff and just love her.

* * *

**Beyond the window of Arthur's chambers the sky is just beginning to yawn as servants descend like locusts once more, quickly preparing the dining room for them. To the serving staff, Merlin's sudden appearance has become quite the fox in the hen house.**

**Arthur knows that ordering dinner **_**two hours**_** early is the sort of thing that makes the cook want to strangle him, so he's kept well away from the kitchen lest it happens. According to George, her rage had only subsided when she discovered it was for Merlin. ("You mean that boy who used to steal my biscuits? He's alive?") **

**Merlin's hair is still wet and shining when the two sit down at Arthur's private table, even though the food hasn't been properly laid out yet. Now the King is sitting to eat with a servant, without the fire properly lit, before the main course **_**is even laid on the table**_**... Arthur's pretty sure he can hear George having a conniption from where he's sitting.**

**Merlin eating, as it turns out, is one of the strangest things Arthur has ever seen. He's****tucking in like the meal has massacred his entire family and he's extracting revenge - it's like, well, like the food is delicious and Merlin is starving, literally weak with malnutrition. His fingertips shine with grease as he quite bluntly stuffs bits of warm pork into an already full maw. **

**Arthur's stomach clenches and twists painfully like a wrung-out rag. There is something so desperate, so animalistic in the way Merlin eats...it makes****his insides feel as they are covered in a layer of frost. **

**Arthur isn't sure how to act around this new Merlin, this silent stranger who graces his table. He is different from the Merlin he knew, in many ways. For one thing, four years ago he would have made a joke about Merlin's lack of manners, and they'd have a laugh and move on.**

**But he could hardly do that now. He didn't like feeling so clueless- he had no map, no way to navigate this alien territory.**

**Uninterested in his own food, he let his hands twist restlessly in his lap. He doesn't usually have to deal with this- starving prisoners of war, emaciated bodies, children crying from hunger... it's not in his job description. He doesn't like seeing people like this- he doesn't like seeing **_**Merlin**_** like this. He knows about it, of course. He's****heard stories from****Knights and villagers alike... but hearing about it and actually seeing it are two very different things. **

**His heart squeezes painfully as guilt begins to creep over him like a shadow. Guilt that Merlin was starving and he was not. Guilt, because he knows that if he wanted a ten course feast he could have it in an hour. Guilt, because he was the **_**only**_** one responsible for calling off the search and yet here Merlin is- beaten but **_**alive. **_

**Arthur has the feeling that he is walking on eggshells – as if the wrong move might cause Merlin's already weak body to break clean in half. It is something he is unaccustomed too, especially around Merlin, to whom he'd always been able to speak his mind. **

**He'd already grieved- cried and mourned and healed. He accepted that they would never fully know what happened to Merlin and with difficulty, moved on. Now here Merlin is, haunting him like a ghost, dropping back into his life as suddenly as the first time he'd entered it, and it's so good to see him but... Arthur is elated, confused, scared and nostalgic all in one: it's overwhelming. It makes his head spin.**

**It makes him feel sick.**

**He swallows thickly as his eyes graze over an oblivious Merlin, whose elbows stand guard fiercely on either side of his overflowing plate, as if he expected it to be taken away. **

**No food is off limits- Merlin consumes****everything with equal gusto and pleasure. Even foods that Arthur specifically remembers Merlin not liking he seems to reunite with like old friends. One summer in particular, a horrible pestilence had wiped out much of the land's cattle. Consequently, their meals were composed greatly of bread, vegetables, and due to an unusually large harvest, lots of asparagus. Like it was yesterday, Arthur can recall Merlin swearing he'd never eat it again if he lived to be one hundred. Now he digs into the fried pile of them like they hide the key to eternal life. **

**He has eyes only for his plate, as if it is a lover of his. Each brush of sticky fingers against shining silver speaks like an intimate kiss. But it is more than just his atrocious table manners that makes Arthur watch with such rapt engrossment. Those are easily forgiven. **

**Merlin seems to be having a vicious debate with his food. Whenever he takes a bite he shakes his head so hard his unruly hair flops about on his forehead. Several times he turns his head sideways like he was trying to get water out of his ear, and with almost every mouthful he stretches out his throat and points his chin straight up in the air like he is heartily intrigued by the ceiling. His head jerks in such a fashion that Arthur actually wonders if Merlin has undergone such extensive damage that he had perhaps lost complete muscular control over his body.**

**Arthur has barely touched his own meal for watching this bizarre display. Halfway through chewing his potatoes it hits him.**

**Oh.**

**His tongue.**

**Without it, he can't manipulate the food in his mouth.**** Eating is, apparently… difficult. Merlin doesn't seem to mind though. In fact, he seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly.**

**Smiling a bit to himself and nibbling on the warm, white, cotton of a roll, Arthur leans back in his chair… and suddenly notices he isn't the only one who's staring. It is like time itself is stopped. The maid who lit the fire has halted to stare at Merlin mid-step, ash-bucket swinging on a crooked elbow, mouth so wide a dragon could have flown out of it. Philip, the servant hovering by Arthur's elbow, in the middle of lighting the candles on the table, is goggling openly.**

**Arthur places his palms flat on the table and sighs loudly, giving off his best glare. That's all it takes to send them scuttling again- the maid off to the servant's quarters, Philip around to the other side of the table to light the other half of the candles. At his sigh, Merlin glances up, a questioning look in his face. Arthur smiles to reassure him, and to his surprise, for the first time since his arrival in Camelot, Merlin smiles back at him.**

**Arthur supposes all he really needed was food. Hope swells in his chest. Perhaps Merlin isn't as different as he initially thought. Maybe things will be alright.**

**And that's when it happens.**

**Philip is standing behind Merlin, stretching his arm past Merlin's ear to reach the last few candles.**

**And Merlin flinches. Flinches like Philip had smacked him in the head with a club, or threatened him with a knife - like his very **_**life**_** was endangered.**

**His clawed hands fly up instantly to his face, protecting his head which turns away. His eyes squeeze shut tightly, anticipating a blow that will never come. The sudden wrench of his elbow bumps his plate and upsets his goblet, spilling wine across the table like blood. **

**If time wasn't stopped before, it certainly is now.**

**Philip jumps back, eyes wide in astonishment, stuttering.**

"**M-My Lord, I-I…I'm sorry-!"**

**Arthur is standing, leaning across the table, one hand outstretched to Merlin.****Slowly he withdraws it.**

"**It's alright," he speaks to Philip, but his eyes are on Merlin.**

**He is slowly realizing what happened, lowering his arms and coming out of his defensive position, face red with shame. His eyes stay stubbornly on the table as his head bows, hands disappearing underneath the table. Even now, he looks like a child expecting a scolding.**

**Before he could think about it, Arthur reaches out and touches his shoulder gently.**

"**It's alright." He says again, this time lower, seeking their old intimacy.**

**Merlin does not look up.**

"That was very brave...what you did."

It was very early.

The quiet of the morning laid across the prisoners like a blanket thicker than anything they had to sleep under. Merlin was awake though- but to be fair that was hardly a voluntary decision.

He snapped his head toward the warm praise - so out of place amongst all this cold- and immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes until the race of shock along his collarbone had dissipated, unable to hold back a wince at the pain.

The never-ending labor was starting pile up in his muscles and joints. The bones of his wrists felt hot and raw, like the constant friction of bone grinding on bone had burned holes right through them.

His shoulders ached, and his abdomen ached, and every single inch of his arms ached.

It felt like all the muscles of his body had been ripped out and replaced with thick, heavy rocks.

He could hardly move for the tightly wound tension that rolled from the bottom of his neck across his back. It was this very pain, in fact, that had awoken him from a dead sleep and he was lying on a sore stomach, hands reaching back to massage under his collar at the top of his spine in an attempt to placate his poor body.

He didn't think he was doing anything particularly brave at the moment- just massaging at his sore body and piecing together a little idea called an escape plan.

When his eyes reopened, to his great surprise, he found himself staring at a woman, one of those elusive creatures that was never around when the men were awake. Merlin suddenly realized that he had inadvertently gotten his wish. She stood above him, black hair scraggly and tangled about her dirty face, dark, hesitant eyes, and cute button nose. A thin sleeping mat, which she dragged sluggishly behind her with an equally thin hand, hung in the dirt next to her bare feet.

Instantly his tired brain perked up, wondering where on earth she had appeared from. Perhaps he wasn't as awake as he thought he was, and she was some sort of dream the loneliest bits of him had created as he slept.

But as he looked around, Merlin saw that it wasn't just her. Dozens of the same kind of creatures were shuffling through the door. An unwelcome cold breath of wind pushed past them and danced around the muted fire.

And then Merlin noticed the collar sitting on her own slender neck.

After a distinct throat-clearing, he managed to find his voice.

"Um. What?"

_Brilliant, Merlin._

But she didn't seem put off.

She let her mat fall and smack against the floor so that dust and dirt billowed up in a dirty cloud, inches from Merlin's nose. He sneezed, and she took the opportunity to lay down on the floor next to him so that they could look at each other, one prisoner to another.

There was too little room here to get upset about her being so close, so any discomfort he might have felt at one time made no difference here.

"What you did on the way here."

Merlin stared back blankly, unable to connect her words to anything he'd done recently.

Picking up on this, she elaborated, a small smile playing around her lips. "The whipping you took for the old woman."

"Oh." Merlin couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised at this unexpected acknowledgment. "How did you know about that?" he asked curiously.

"She told me about it. While we were working."

"Oh." And then, because he doesn't know what else to say, he added, "Thank you."

The girl smiled kindly. Despite the dirt and the thin face that bordered on gaunt, she really was very beautiful. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "I'm like you," she said, and plucked at her collar.

Merlin couldn't help his smile. "Don't happen to know how to get the bloody thing off, do you?"

She huffed a laugh. "No, I don't. But… I understand…" she suddenly seemed sheepish and embarrassed and through the darkness of the hut, Merlin could see her blush.

"You should get to sleep," she continued as she rolled over onto her back, "the men are supposed to wake up soon."

He was tired, but if this was his last chance to find out, there was no way he was going back to sleep just yet.

"Where do you go?" he asked eagerly, looking at her with bright, curious eyes.

She turned her head to look at him. "What?"

"What are the women doing? Where are you every night? " he asked.

She gave him a small smile for his question. "Working," she answered simply, "we polish and sort the silver you mine."

Merlin couldn't help but be slightly baffled by such a simple answer to what seemed a huge mystery.

"We have to do it at night," she said, forehead wrinkling at his silence, "because we sort what you find that same day."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Then what happens?"

She shrugged. "I think they sell it."

Merlin nodded. "What's your name?"

"Freya." Her voice was soft, and she looked away towards the ceiling, like if she tried hard enough she could see right through to the stars.

"Freya," he asked, "do you ever miss your magic?"

She was quiet and for a moment Merlin thought that she had started ignoring him. He had resigned himself to isolation when the answer was delivered.

"Sometimes," she murmured, "but not always."

Merlin was confused. His magic was the most vital part of him. He missed it like he would have missed his right hand. "Why?" he pressed.

"I didn't…" she sighed and turned back to look at him properly. "Sometimes… sometimes it made me do things that I didn't want to do."

Merlin nodded. "Maybe you just need to practice. It used to get out of me too, when I was younger. One time, when I was angry at my mother, I made a whole outhouse explode." Freya winced, a strange and foreign giggle rose from her lips like smoke.

Merlin laughed with her. "It was horrible. There was, uh, _you know_... everywhere. And of course I had to clean it all up. It took days… I smelled horrible for weeks. But after a while and some practice I got control and it stopped happening. Maybe that's all you need, too."

She looked skeptical, and turned her eyes toward the ceiling again. "Maybe."

Merlin was unperturbed, and he leaned up on one sore elbow to look at her face better. "When we get out of here," he began grandly, but at an inmate's loud and angry warning grunt his voice quickly fell several octaves. "I'll teach you. I don't want to brag or anything, but I'm pretty good myself. You'll be a great sorceress. Just you wait."

There was silence, but the contented, happy kind.

Merlin laid his head back down, grinning for once, and shut his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

"You never told me your name." It was so quiet he wasn't even sure that he really heard it.

"Merlin," he murmured through thick lips.

"Merlin," she repeated, "good to meet you."

He wasn't sure, but he thought that – in the most unlikely of places – he perhaps made a friend.

**The moment Arthur emerged from Merlin's bedroom, door swinging shut with a final thud, he was surrounded by red capes and armored men who pressed in on all sides.**

**The news had spread quicker than the pox.**

"**Arthur." It was Gwaine who spoke first. His voice was quivering with excitement and his eyes shone with a bright with a hope that hadn't been there seen since before the war started. **

"**Is it true? Merlin's really back? He's really alive?"**

**Arthur pressed a hurried finger to his lips, glancing back at the door in alarm. "Shh," he said, then added in a whisper, "He's just gone to sleep." With a jerk of his head he led the group down to the far end of the darkening corridor, where they wouldn't be overheard.**

"**It's true then?" Gwaine pressed; one hand gripped the sleeve of Arthur's shirt excitedly.****"That's what everyone's saying," he continued, "Arthur's first manservant's come back- is it true you put a **_**collar**_** on him?"**

"**What?" Arthur said reproachfully, "I didn't -!"**

"**Well I definitely saw a collar on him." Leon said as Percy nodded in agreement. **

"**It's true that he's back. But that wasn't me." Arthur, puffing out his chest, spoke so firmly that all eyes turned onto him. "He already had the collar on when he got here.****Jarin found him in the enemy's camp- brought him back in chains… he didn't recognize him, of course, Jarin never knew him…anyway, they brought him in with the other war prisoners."**

"**But- but we found…the neckerchief…? Wow…" Elyan, eyebrows dipped and arms crossed, was shaking his head slowly in disbelief. "I thought…"**

"**We all did. But we didn't find a body, **_**did**_** we?" Arthur said darkly.**

"**Don't beat yourself up, Arthur," Leon said as he****slapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "We looked for months. We all thought…well, how could we not? And with Morgana…?"**

**Arthur sighed heavily. He couldn't help it… he still felt so responsible.**

"**When can we see him?" Gwaine asked, chancing a glance up the corridor at the room Arthur had just exited.**

"**Not now, you idiot, he's just gone to bed. Could do with a few years of sleep, by the looks of him…"**

**Gwaine's eyes narrowed and his voice was an octave lower when he spoke. "Is it really that bad?"**

**It was Percy who answered, in a similarly low tone, "I've seen foxes heavier than him." **

**And he hadn't even seen Merlin's back. **

**Arthur repressed a shudder.**** "Listen," he said, "He's traumatized. He can't even talk."**

"**He can't **_**talk?"**_** Elyan asked incredulously.**

"**No," Percy said, "His tongue's missing." **

"**His **_**tongue's**_** missing!?" said Gwane, startled. "Arthur, you didn't tell me his **_**tongue**_** was missing, bloody hell! Let me see him," he moved to walk around Arthur, but was caught by one strong arm thrown around his middle. **

"**Not **_**now**_**," Arthur said firmly, "you'll overwhelm him. If he's up to it, you can see him tomorrow." **

"**What are you, his personal nurse-maid?" Gwaine snapped. **

"_**Yes."**_

**And he said it with such conviction that no one else even dared to argue.**

"**Oh, that reminds me," Leon said, holding up a finger, "Gaius wants to see him. Practically gave him a heart attack… it was all I could do to keep him in bed." **

"**You told **_**Gaius**_** already?" Arthur asked.**

**Leon shrugged. "Well of course I did, he deserves to know."**

**Exasperated, Arthur massaged his temples. "Don't you guys have some work to do?" **

**Percy scowled at the thought of the mountain of work waiting for him. "Don't you have a kingdom to run?"**

"**Really," Arthur said flatly,****"it's been a long day. I'm going to bed."**

**Leon elbowed Percy's side gently. "Yes, my Lord. We'll talk tomorrow."**

**Dismissed, the Knights retreated; but Arthur wasn't quite done yet. He snagged Elyan's arm before he managed to walk away, holding him back.**

"**My Lord?" he questioned with a bow of his head, glancing back at the other knights' retreating backs halfway down the corridor.**

"**Elyan. I want you to ride to Cyfwich. Go to Gwen****. ****Let her know Merlin's alive and in Camelot."**

**His eyes grew wide, and Arthur grimaced. **

"**Gwen, my Lord? Are you sure?"**

" **I'm sure. She's his very good friend and she would want to know."**

"**But… Arthur… after what happened, how she refused you, people will talk…"**

**Arthur rolled his eyes. "They're going to talk anyway."**

**Elyan grinned.****"Fair point. I'll set off at first light."**

**Arthur smiled in return, and released his friend's arm. "Thank you."**

**It wasn't until after George had left him for the night that Arthur finally let himself**_** be, **_**let himself**_** feel**_**. He smashed through the dam he'd built to hold his emotions back and let it dissolve into dust. He let the confusion rush through his limbs and over take him. **

**Everything was so raw and so new and so explosive.**

**How could one man feel so much?**

**How much could one person endure?**

**He turned onto his stomach and wept silently.**

Freya was everything to Merlin.

It was soon normal for Merlin to wake up extra early each morning in order to talk to her. Despite the fact they could only talk an hour or so each day before the sun fully rose, they quickly became very close friends. He found waking up to be much easier when there was something to look forward to, even when it was brutally early. Freya seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. She never told him, but he suspected that she liked knowing that someone was waiting just to see her face when she got back in the early morning. Even though his body soon got used to the schedule, it was still a struggle.

There were, of course, times that he failed to rouse, waking instead to rough hands shaking him and gruff voices telling him to get up and get going. On occasions such as these, he was with disappointment when he realized what he'd done. Freya wouldn't hear any of it when he tried to apologize, though.

"You need your sleep," she would admonish, "I shouldn't let you wake up as early as you do."

As time went on, Merlin told her about Ealdor and about his mother. He told her about his adventures and his friends, but most importantly he told her about Camelot. He told her about all the times he's saved Arthur's ungrateful arse… and about the times Arthur saved his.

He spun her beautiful flaxen promises with sweet, sweet words as they bonded over the mutual losses of magic, friendship and freedom.

"Don't get too attached to this place," he'd grin, propping his hands behind his head.

Freya would snort. "Attached? To this place?"

And Merlin would ignore her "Because Arthur's probably looking for me now as we speak. He'd never abandon me. He'll keep looking until he finds me. And when he does, I'll take you with me, back to Camelot. You'll love it, Freya." He said. "You and Gwen will be such spectacular friends. It'll be great. You'll see."

She always smiled for him. "I'd like that."

Merlin knew she was skeptical. He knew she didn't believe that Arthur was coming, but he didn't mind. She'd see herself, eventually.

She'd see.

Then they'd be in Camelot together and this whole nightmare will have been worth if he could see her alive, really _alive _and smiling.

In turn, she told him all about her childhood-growing up surrounded by blue blushing mountains and a swimming in a glassy lake. She told him about her family, and how when they passed she'd been left with nothing- wandering the wilderness homeless and friendless- staying clear of big cities and populous towns, though she'd never say why. It was no wonder she'd been picked up by slave traders.

Merlin listened kindly and patiently. He did not interrupt or offer any noises of sympathy. There was too much sadness in this place for sympathy to do any good. When the whole sorry tale came to a sorry end and they'd fallen into a sad silence he reached out with cautious, comforting fingers and knotted their hands together.

"I'm your friend and your family now." He gave a shy grin and squeezed her hand, but she shook her head.

"Wrong," she whispered. "You're my home."

The winter months were the worst. As the cold rushed in, Merlin's motivation for escape seemed to rush out. He didn't want to leave without Freya, but an escape plan with an extra body would be twice as hard, especially since they were now both so weak and unhealthy.

It was impossible to feel warm, even huddled next to the fire. It was as if Merlin's body was slowly transforming into ice, and it became difficult to remember what heat actually felt like; difficult to remember that there had ever been anything other than this frigid prison of a body.

The only time he _did _feel warm was when he was working, and then it was almost too much to bear with the sweat pouring down his face and into his vision, stinging his eyes and making him curse. But the escape from the bitter cold was almost enough to make him look forward to it. It was a tough trade off: pain for heat.

The coldest mornings found him huddled together with Freya, tucked tightly into each other's bodies. They slept directly on the hard floor, using their doubled mats for blankets that they cowered under against the cold embrace of winter while they debated about the best bits of summer in soft whispers. (Merlin insisted it was the sun, but Freya would not budge from wildflowers.) It helped with the cold, especially in the moments after Freya arrived and before Merlin left.

But while they were busy with just surviving, whether they knew it or not, things were in a downward spiral.

Each day, there was less and less silver. Each day, they were fed less and less. Merlin's concern for Freya grew every time he counted her bones. It was as if all the meat and water had been sucked out of her.

He saved his dinner for her nearly every night, stuffing it into his shirt so the guards wouldn't see. Even though hunger scraped at the insides of his stomach like fingernails, it was worth it.

_Freya_ was worth it.

And she ate gratefully... at first.

After a while she began refusing. "You need your strength more than I do," she'd insist, trying to give it back.

"I'm not going to eat it if you don't," he'd counter.

It led to several bitter arguments and a few meals were thrown completely away, just out of spite. Things were moving quickly, and they weren't ready for the change.

Freya would bring back whispers of gossip from the guards. The mine cost more money to keep open then made- and they needed every cent they could get with a war going on. Rumors about possibly being shut down ran rampant. Apparently, their days were numbered.

They really shouldn't have been surprised when, in early spring workers began to be rounded up and shipped away. The first time he woke up to the sound of fearful protests and slaves being yanked from sleep, only to be clad in iron, a solid chunk of icy panic slid down his throat. He watched with cold despair as they were marched out the door and into the unknown.

He wasn't about to let Freya and him be shipped off to who knows where and what fate.

There was still no sign of Arthur. More and more Merlin found himself having to stamp out the fear that he wouldn't come at all. He _would, _even if Arthur was taking his sweet time about it.

But they didn't have the luxury of waiting any longer- Freya had been here long enough.

Merlin decided it would have to be at night, when they were both together. He was not prepared to take the risk of splitting up and possibly losing her. When he talked to Freya about it she was concerned, and far more hesitant.

"I just don't know, Merlin," she protested, hugging her knees to her chest.

It was times like these that Merlin had trouble keeping his voice down. How she could be anything but dying to get out of here he would never understand. His hand raked through his grimy hair. "Freya, they're shipping people out in case you haven't noticed and we could very well be next!"

"In case _you_ haven't noticed, we're _slaves, _Merlin. What does it matter where we live? It's not going to change what we are."

Merlin bristled. "For all you know the next place could be worse than this one. They are going to _separate us_ and I'm not going to just sit back and let it happen. I won't be a slave for much longer, Freya, and neither will you. Camelot is _waiting_ for us! All we have to do is get there."

"Merlin, I'm sorry, but there's no chance. They'd catch us before we even set foot out the door."

"Freya, I can get us there, I know I can. Trust me, _please_. I can take care of us. I can do this."

She shook her head. "I..."

"What?"

"I don't... I don't fit in very well around other people. I- I don't... do well in towns."

"Don't do well in- Freya! You're not doing well _here! _I know we like to pretend otherwise but you need medical attention. I'm not going to let you _die_ in this hole!"

She resisted, but Merlin was adamant and she eventually agreed.

He saved two pieces of ore from the mine- the biggest and best he could find. He stuffed them deep into his pants. During the walk back that evening he shuffled and stumbled until there was a good couple of meters between the last man in line and himself.

Both pieces were for the soldier outside the door to their hut. Merlin wondered briefly if it a little was overkill... but he didn't want to take any chances.

The exchange was quick as a flash.

"Forget to lock the door tonight," he muttered.

The man had just laughed. Merlin had no idea if this was a good or bad sign, but he couldn't be seen lingering, so he stumbled on inside.

He tried to get some sleep before the women returned but, even though he was exhausted, it was hard. His heart pounded in his chest.

They were getting out.

They were getting out tonight.

They were leaving...he hardly dared believe it.

When all was dark around him the women filed in, tired and silent as ever.

Together he and Freya sat, holding their breath, waiting for all the others to fall asleep as they imagined the infinite amount of things that could go wrong.

After what felt like hours Merlin rose to his knees. Freya, who had been lightly dozing with her head on his shoulder woke as soon as he touched her arm.

"It's time." he whispered.

Her face set.

Together, hands clasped, they crept toward the door, quieter than sleeping mice as they stepped over fellow prisoners.

'_As soon as we're safe,'_ Merlin promised himself as he tip toed around a young boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen. '_As soon as I'm back in Camelot...I will tell Arthur about the people here... I will save them.'_

But he had to get himself out first.

He touched the door gently. If his bribe wasn't taken...if it was locked...

He tried the latch with slick fingers.

It gave.

The weight fell from his shoulders as he released a breath.

Freya, her nerves wound as tightly as his, shushed him.

His head poked out of the door and the cool night air felt like refreshing kisses from freedom itself.

There was no one around. Woods stood 400 yards to the right. He withdrew his head and nodded to Freya, who nodded back.

Silent as death he eased the door open, just wide enough for their bodies. Merlin squeezed through first and Freya followed. They spared one quick glance around before they broke into a run, and sped as quickly as they could toward the safety of the trees.

Merlin had to fight off hysterical laughter that threatened to burst from his mouth.

They were out.

They were free.

He was safe.

Visions of Camelot swam before his eyes. Why hadn't he done this sooner? They'd be home in a week. He was almost skipping.

His freedom was short lived.

Suddenly, there was a strange whistling noise. It started out muffled, but grew louder and louder - and then _wham_. Something smacked into his ankles, hard, and he went down. It all happened so fast he didn't even have time to throw his hands up before bony joints scraped against solid earth.

Bewildered, at first he thought it was a tree root. He'd just tripped, that's all. But when he tried to get up, his ankles were bound tight.

He looked down. Rope coiled around his legs and pinned them together. A heavy stone was tied to one end, but before he could sort out what had just happened, he heard it.

Running footsteps. Indistinct shouting. The blood froze in his veins.

"Merlin?" Freya whispered desperately from somewhere ahead of him, "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Fine, Freya, just keep going!"

His hands worked quickly, tugging at the stone but the rope only tightened. In his panic he couldn't find where it started or where it stopped. He tried wiggling his feet out instead.

A pair of small hands joined his, scrabbling over the rope like spiders.

"Freya!" He whispered harshly, "What are you -go!"

She shook her head without looking at him, and her voice was close to tears when she spoke. "Not without you."

Then she gasped, and her hands jerked away. Merlin's head whipped around. "Freya!"

A guard had her by the upper arms hauled her back as she struggled. Already, a length of rope was being wound around her wrists.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders.

Words held him in place like a jail cell.

"Look here," it said, "I think we've got ourselves our first two volunteers."


	5. Chapter 5

I know it's been quite some time since my last update, and for that I apologize. Would it help if I went ahead and blamed finals?

**This would not have been possible without the help and guidance of my beta Aseptic. She is extremely dedicated and simply fabulous. **

One last thing: fanfiction is being quite rude as my usual page breaks ( - ) are not showing up, so I switched, for now to: 888.

So without further ado:

* * *

**Merlin is glaring. Although it is obvious that he is in pain, Arthur is the one doing the squirming.**

**He tries not to look at Merlin's face. Instead, his gaze shifts downwards to watch the progress of the bandage winding its around Merlin's****torso; but his black and blue ribs stick out like fingers reaching out from inside him. It makes Arthur wince.**

**He finds himself babbling like a fool to cover up his own anxiety.**

"**Just... just as soon as Florin is finished..." Arthur says, "We'll go and see Gaius, I promise, just a little longer."**

**Florin... the new...****court physician. **

_**That **_**had certainly been an uncomfortable, one-sided conversation.**

**Merlin was like the son Gaius never had. After Merlin vanished... it had been hard on everyone, but it had been especially hard on the old man.**

**Before his arrival in Camelot, Gaius's life had been filled with lonely meals and empty homes. Merlin had been the light that had burst into his life; after such an experience, there was no way he could go back to the darkness****. **

**Gaius held out hope longer than anyone else. He'd been downright merciless to the Knights who came back empty-handed day... after day... after day. He'd even gone so far as to force his company on several search parties, convinced that his presents would make a difference, convinced that **_**he**_** would be able to find Merlin, convinced that these 'idiot, meat-brained sacks of muscle' were just too **_**stupid.**_

**But, as much to Arthur's disappointment as Gaius's, never so much as a trace was found.**

**And with no one there to help him on house calls, or to go out and collect his herbs, his job performance took a downward turn.**

**Then, so did his health.**

**As the years passed, Gaius became a hunched and tired old man, sulking around the castle in a dark cloud of never-ending grief.**

**Arthur didn't really have a choice- they had to bring someone else in.**

**At first, Florin just took care of the outlying villages, the ones that required a day or more of travel that Gaius- with his age and his health- just wasn't up to.**

**Then he took on the outlying villages as well as the lands surrounding the Castle, as Gaius handled all illnesses within the walls.**

**But soon enough, Florin took them on as well. Gaius still lived in his old quarters in the castle, and he still helped out a bit- curing the sniffles, making some tonics, consulting, but it was more to make him feel useful than anything else.**

**Merlin had been gone only four years, but Gaius had aged a lifetime.**

**Now, Arthur looks back at Merlin's face.**

**It was Arthur who had woken him this morning, while George stood by, scowling. It was Arthur who carried a breakfast tray twice as heavy as his own (the term 'breakfast' was one Arthur used loosely- it was well past noon when they decided to wake him). It was also Arthur who stepped directly into what used to be last night's dinner, now a thick and chunky pool over the edge of Merlin's bed.**

**Arthur cleaned it, too. Well, sort of. When Merlin's gaunt face face peeked out from the sheets, he reached automatically for the dull rag in the bedside table with one thin arm, his body creaking as he pushed himself up. But before he could swing his feet to the floor, Arthur pushed his hand away.**

"**Nevermind it, Merlin," he said smoothly, "Eat." **

**Merlin did not require more convincing.**

**Arthur threw the same dull rag over the pool of sick and resolved to tell George the third guest room needed cleaning. **

**The midnight vomiting episode did nothing to inject any caution into Merlin's morning appetite. Long fingers pushed chunks of fresh fruit, fatty sausages and warm bread into his mouth so quickly, Arthur suspected that he had decided to forgo chewing altogether and was just shoving the food directly down his throat.****He supposed he should have said something... but he didn't exactly relish telling a starving man to slow down and eat less. Breakfast hadn't made a reappearance yet, but Arthur had his suspicions.**

"**There we are," Florin pats Merlin's shoulder gently with a warm hand, signalling that he's finished.**

**He's a nice man, caring and patient, and good at his job, but Arthur catches Merlin shooting him a disgruntled look as he slides from the table.**

"**Just one more thing," Florin interjects quickly. He goes to his shelf and selects three small vials- one is pale yellow like melted butter, one clear, the third a murky grey.**

"**This," he says, handing the yellow one to Merlin, "Will aid your body in healing all those bruises. This one," he hands him the clear one, "Will take the edge off the pain. And **_**this**_**," he holds out the murky grey liquid, "Will help you sleep."**

**Arthur snorts.****"Help him sleep? I don't think he needs any help with that... he was asleep til noon!" **

**Merlin looks over at him.**

**He is not smiling.**

**Florin shifts uncomfortably. "It will, ah, ensure you have a dreamless sleep, Merlin," he says gently, gazing at him sympathetically.**

**Merlin takes the vial and stows it deep in his pocket.**

**Florin looks relieved. "Take them just before bed, then," he says with a smile. "Come back in three days and we'll take a look at your progress." **

**Arthur does not like how easily Merlin can make him feel like a fool.**

**888**

_You are two sides of the same coin…uniting the land of Albion…_

That's what the Dragon had said. Merlin and Arthur… a story that would live long in the hearts of men.

Some destiny.

Half a coin, indeed. He certainly felt half now – half alive. Half human.

What had _happened_? What was he _doing_ in this hell hole? It had been almost an _entire year._

Where was Arthur?

Now not only did the collar strangle his throat, but something else that also hung from his neck strangled his pride (or what was left of it anyway) – a price tag.

The people on either side of him wore tags as well. To the left was a big burly man (known for stealing food at the mine) and on the right, a small delicate woman shivered in the cold. Here humans poor in compassion bought humans poor in gold.

_A great destiny..._

Was _this_ really his great destiny?

To be sold like cattle? To remain homeless and hungry and enslaved? To be unable to help all these people who waited, in destitute, for a savior?

He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the wooden platform under his feet. His face lifted only when pairs of meaty hands forced his chin up and pried his mouth open to look at his teeth.

_His teeth._

He felt like a horse- except horses were fed better.

There were sixteen of them in total, standing in one hunched and drooping line on a small wooden stage in the middle of a circular clearing. Potential buyers (he refused to think of them as potential _masters_) filed by, appraising them, crossing their arms and staring with cold and unfeeling eyes.

His shirt had been taken away and he breathed fresh air freely though his skin. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he was able to just stand still and soak in nature. Yet even now, the heat of the sun eluded him as it hid behind a dense layer of thick, grey clouds. Though he waited patiently to see its brilliant face, if just for one golden second, it remained hidden.

The weather was as impassive as the sky. It was warm, but without a shirt it was cold enough to be bothered by the wind. Merlin let his eyes shut, enveloping himself in darkness.

With his eyes closed he could pretend he was anywhere: stretched out in a green field stippled with a healthy helping of bright wildflowers, red and blue and yellow. Drops of sun rained down on him. His outstretched limbs reveled in the feel of grass. Birds and insects sang him a calming symphony. Camelot, the castle, everyone he loved was yards away, just over the next hill. Gaius was waiting for him to come home for supper…

Cold hands on his arms snapped him out of his revere and broke the surface of reality. A woman, ink black hair pulled back in a tight bun, lifted his arms up above his head, appraising his abdomen thoughtfully. She turned him around with rough hands. But when she saw the scars that littered his back she made a disapproving noise and walked on, lips self-righteously pursed. This had happened twice already.

Apparently no one wanted an unruly slave.

Merlin could not tell if this was good or bad. He had no idea what would happen to him if he didn't sell. He seemed to pass every other test – the salty fingers in his mouth to feel his teeth, the squeezing of his arms to feel his muscles, but once they saw that he'd had to be disciplined they seemed to turn in favor of a more amicable slave.

Merlin supposed that not only did a slave have to be totally submissive; they also had to smile graciously in the face of the very person who stole their life.

So they weren't asking for too much, then.

There was one thing for which he was grateful, however. Freya was with him and she hadn't been sold yet either. Even though she stood at the far end of the stage along with all the other women, he could see her. There was no way he could put a price on such a privilege.

The strongest and burliest of the men were the first to go, and quickly their numbers were reduced. The food-stealer on Merlin's left lasted less than a half hour before he was bought and paid for.

The blonde had taken more time, but she too, had sold. Merlin watched her as she trotted off behind a man who held the end of the rope that bound her wrists. The leer on his face when he turned back to look her made Merlin's stomach clench like he might vomit. He wondered exactly how long it would take before she was as blank faced as the wife that brought up the rear, swaying as she walked like a sick dog.

Their numbers continued to dwindle.

Soon there were only six of them left: One man worn old with age, Freya, three other women who looked more dead than alive, and himself.

But prime selling hours seemed to have came and gone. The little circular field that held their stage was almost empty save for the guards that stood on either end, and a few lingering customers. Most of them were gathering their cloaks about their bodies as they headed off in different directions, casting worried glances up at the darkening sky.

Merlin began strategizing. After all, now was his chance. The day was coming to an end- there were less people around, less helping hands. The guards had been standing on their feet all day long. They were tired, and underpaid. No one would want to chase two unwanted, useless slaves through miles of woods. Freya's time in the mine was long and cruel to her and she had grown thin and weak. If he could somehow make a distraction long enough for her to get a head start...

There was a problem in the form of a greying man standing off to Merlin's right, who was watching him intently. He was in charge of all the buying and bargaining. Each time someone turned away without Merlin's wrists being cinched in rope, the man's scowl grew deeper and deeper, as if Merlin had purposefully gone and gotten himself whipped just to cheat him out of a few gold coins.

But as one last man approached, Merlin saw determination flash in his eyes. The man clearly did not mean to let this new customer leave without a new slave or two.

He waited patiently, watching as this stout, corpulent man inspected Merlin.

The new customer checked everything: Merlin's teeth, Merlin's muscles, Merlin's eyes. He hummed and hawed and scratched his enlarged stomach as a red tongue slid over rotten teeth.

But, per usual, Merlin's back seemed to be the dealbreaker. Just as the man was walking away, however, the boss swooped in.

"Boan," he sang with the air of two old friends meeting for the first time in years. "My favorite customer." His smile grew as he slung his arm around Boan's shoulders. "I just can't help but notice that you don't seem very interested in buying today...I can't think of why, not when we have such perfectly good stock..."

The second man, Boan, snorted at this. "Good stock? I saw the scars on that boy. I don't have the time to teach a slave its place."

"Oh, but Boan," the man continued with his honey-sweet tone, "we both know that discipline is really the area you _excel_ in, after that _unfortunate_ incident last time..." Merlin's skin felt icy at the words.

Boan seemed to bristle at that. "That's another thing!" he turned, pointing, "That's another thing, last time you sold me that skimpy boy 'n he could hardly lift nothing!"

The man nodded sympathetically. "He was rather frail, wasn't he? But he was so young, and so sickly... the whole thing was just so lamentable... but, Boan, I _assure_ you that _this_ slave is _so_ much more... resilient."

Boan looked skeptical, and the man plowed on, one finger sinking into Boan's chest. "We got him from one of the mines in the Black Mountains, you know how they work them up there, I'm sure he's got plenty of muscle built up... if anything," He let a musical little laugh punctuate his speech, "the scars only _prove_ that he's got plenty of strength left in him. The simple fact is," he let his voice drop, "that harvest season is around the corner, and well, I don't make it a habit to peek in on the lives of my customers, no, not even my favorite ones, but it seems to me that you _might_ need a little extra help, Boan, if you want to get those forty acres to market before that neighbor of yours does. Not to mention, I think we _all_ know that that little wife of yours could use some help in the kitchen, no?"

Boan seemed to consider this, slowly. Merlin could feel his eyes sliding over to him, and down his body. He shivered.

"Knock off eight gold pieces." Boan said gruffly, arms crossing.

"Two." The second man shoots back.

"Six."

"Four."

"Five, or I'll leave without him."

The second man laughs, but there is no humor in his eyes. "You always did drive a hard bargain, Boan!"

Knowing that he was going for nearly half price was not a comfort to Merlin.

Gold changed hands. Merlin's stomach tightened in time with the rope around his wrists and suddenly he was being led down the stairs and onto the grass.

This was his chance. A little bit of violence, a small "escape-attempt" maybe a little mental breakdown... no one would notice a girl as small as Freya sneaking off. He would escape later, find his way back somehow, meet up with her in the woods... and if he couldn't?

Well, Merlin had never been a greedy man- her safety was enough for him.

He bent his knees, ready to pounce and then nearly fell over after Boan gave an abrupt yank on his rope. He stumbled to avoid falling face-first in the dirt.

That was when he heard it. The greying man was talking to the guards in an exhausted sort of voice, and the guard was gesturing toward the unsold slaves: the old man, Freya, and the three other women.

"What should we do with 'em?" he asked, mopping hair back from his sweaty brow.

The man sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "Just... get rid of them."

The words echoed through the fog enshrouding his skull.

_Just... get rid of them._

"No," his voice was so quiet, even he couldn't hear it.

One guard, stony-faced, herded them together. Only, they heard the man too, and alarm was apparent on all of their faces. They clawed and clung to one another, huddling together like cornered animals. The shortest and clearly the youngest of them let out a horrible wail.

A second guard pulled his sword out of his scabbard as Merlin felt another insistent tug on his wrists.

Merlin went wild.

"Freya!" He moved so quickly the end of the rope nearly flew from his new master's thick hands, but he managed to catch it at the last moment, snapping Merlin's movement short several meters of the stage.

But Merlin wasn't going to go quietly anymore. His feet dug into the ground as he struggled to move forward.

He could see her face from where he stood, white faced and scared. Her hand gripped the women next to her while at the same time a guard was holding onto her arm, keeping the small group together and under control.

"Freya!"

He screamed and screamed until his throat was felt like it was coated in blood- raw, hot and blistered.

Freya was his sun. Freya was his world, his air, his earth, his bones. She was all he had- his only friend, the only thing he had worth fighting for, worth living for. He'd lost Arthur, and he'd lost Camelot...and he couldn't bear to lose her too. If she were to leave the sky would turn black. The earth would cease to turn.

She was everything.

She was the _only_ thing... she couldn't leave him alone like this.

Merlin struggled violently to get to the stage, yanking his arms away, fighting back with a strength he didn't know he still had buried inside him. He wasn't the only one voice screaming. Voices surround him.

"Woah!"

"Hold him!"

"Someone shut his damn mouth!"

Hands grabbed him; they anchored his limbs, weighed him down to the ground. They shoved his face into damp earth, and he lost track of Freya's face.

He thrashed against the weight blanketing him and although he felt his limbs connect a few times with what must have been solid human flesh, he was weak, and they outnumbered him.

There were no thoughts, and no coherent words, just a stark electricity, just the burning, white-hot coals of urgent panic that swept through his veins and caused him to scream, to struggle, to revolt. His eyes were stinging and his voice was breaking and then he was crying, tears so hot he felt they should have been steaming. His heart was beating so fast his chest ached.

A hand covered his mouth but he sank his teeth into it, and it drew away.

There was a sharp burst of pain across his cheek and nose as he was struck, likely by the same hand he bit. His screaming became a grunt of pain.

Even with the knee that dug painfully into the bony spine of his back, and a hand that gripped a chunk of his hair and kept his face pressed into the dirt, his eyes were quickly shifting, searching for her. They cast up and around, and landed square on her face.

Her eyes were on his.

It occurred to Merlin that this was probably a better distraction than he could ever have possibly planned. He had all the attention he wanted and then some.

But it didn't work.

A guard was gripping her upper arm tightly; there would be no escape.

It was absolutely no comfort to know that no matter what he did he would have failed.

He could see the anxiety in her face from where he lay in the mud. Even though she looked right at him and smiled, she could not hide the fear.

Every stupid empty promise he ever made her ran through his mind.

_Arthur is going be save us._

_One day, I'll take you swimming in Lake Avalon._

_You're going to with me live in Camelot's castle._

_I'm going to take care of you._

And the biggest lie of all:

_You're going to be so happy, Freya._

She mouthed something to him, and it took a few moments for his adrenaline-riddled brain to absorb it.

"It's okay..." she said.

Her mouth was a smile...her eyes were screaming.

That was the last image he has of her.

For the second time, something blunt collided with the back of his head; the world went dark...and that was the moment when he stopped believing Arthur was coming.

**888**

**Merlin remains a constant three strides ahead of Arthur as he speeds toward Gaius's****tower. Pace brisk, the people of the castle pass by. There are missing people, new faces... and more than enough gained sorrow. Even that ridiculous tapestry's****new, Arthur****muses to himself as he passes the adornment on the wall to his left. It occurs to him that the Camelot Merlin left, and the one he returned to, are two very different places. He can't help but wonder if Merlin notices all these changes, too. He almost begins pointing them out, drawing a breath speak... but he stops himself. Now is****not the time. Merlin doesn't care... he just wants to get home. **

**Arthur couldn't blame Merlin for being so anxious: if there were something as comforting and familiar in the castle for him, he'd have been running towards it too.**

**Merlin bursts through the door in a frenzy (Arthur just on his heels) and the reaction is immediate.**

**Gaius is seated at his table, upon which two plates and a jug of water are also resting. A full pot is steaming over the fireplace and Arthur can smell lunch simmering. He doesn't like to think how long it took Gaius, for whom it is challenging to get from one end of the room to the other, to get all of this together. It's more activity than Arthur's seen in him this entire past year. **

**Gaius's head is resting in his hand. He's been waiting, waiting for Merlin to come home and eat with him, just like he had been for the last four years. As soon as he hears the door creak open his chin jerks up. His eyes go wide. He struggles raise like the house is on fire, but before he can so much as stand, Merlin is at his side. **

**They're embracing, Merlin clinging to him desperately, his tight grip on Gaius's shirt causing deep ripples in the fabric. **

**Gaius's old and strained voice snaps like brittle wood.**

"**Merlin," he's sobbing, wheezing.****"**_**Merlin." **_

**Gaius's arms encircle him tightly as his cheek presses into Merlin's overgrown hair. Merlin's eyes are rimmed red before he buries them into Gaius's neck. His shoulders heave sharply with the force of his desperate, gasping, sobs. He sucks in broken breaths of air, and heaves them rattling out. It's a strange, eerily quiet way of crying, with him so small and curled up into Gaius like he could just disappear... Arthur's stomach wrenches; he can feel goosebumps rising on his skin. **

**Gaius's eyes seek out Arthur's over top of Merlin's shaggy hair, where one wrinkled hand strokes his head soothingly.**

"**Thank you," he manages weakly, "Thank you, for bringing him to me." **

**Arthur scrapes a smile together. "I promised I would, didn't I?"**

**Gaius turns back to Merlin, and together, with Merlin folded up in his arms, they rock slowly on the bench, wrapped in a moment they'd hardly dared to dream for. **

**It is so intimate, so haunting that Arthur suddenly feels like an intruder.**

**He takes a step back, out the door.**

**And quietly closes it behind him.**

**888**

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Merlin's head hung limply.

His hands were again up, over his head. This time he was in a barn, surrounded by the smell of steaming dung and a few disinterested animals, aside from the noise.

But the whiplashes didn't hurt as much this time, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe because he'd gone through it before. Maybe because he knew what to expect.

Maybe because Freya was dead and his whole body was numb.

He had a feeling it was the last one.

He heard the crack, but the pain barely registered.

The sun had gone out, and all he felt was cold.

Something deep inside him had broken, snapped clean in two, and now there was nothing to mend it. Behind him Boan panted with the effort of his wild swings. Between heavy breaths he ranted endlessly about proper slave behavior, showing Merlin his place... the sound broke over Merlin like the ocean over rock.

This man could do nothing to touch him now, for what could hurt him?

Boan only whipped Merlin's back.

Freya's death shattered his heart.

What was physical pain, compared to the agony in his head? He felt like he was trapped in his own mind, his own body, scraping jagged and bloodied fingernails against the walls, begging, screaming, crying for relief.

He's not sure how long he was there that night- he lost count after fifteen.

**888**

**Arthur leaves the throne room with a sigh. These meetings were grueling, exhausting, and horribly boring. He did not expect rebuilding after a war to be so ridiculously difficult. Sometimes it felt like his work would never end. **

**His eyes cast around the hall, but he doesn't see Merlin. He tries not to feel disappointed... but he can't help it and his insides deflate slightly. Sometimes, he would emerge from meetings nursing a giant headache and strained eyes, only to find Merlin, sitting on the floor next to the door. His knees would be huddled up to his chest, and his head would leaned back against the cold stone, waiting for him. The way Merlin's face lit up when Arthur finally walked out...it never failed to make Arthur smile. Having someone wait for him like that... it was... nice. Nice in ways Arthur can't really describe. He'd already talked to a mason about a bunch put in at the foot of the staircase.**

**But this one had taken nearly three hours and Arthur couldn't **_**really**__**expect**_** Merlin to spend all that time waiting for him, so he tries to be reasonable. Keen to find him, he sets off towards Gaius's tower.  
**

**It hadn't taken long for Arthur to become Merlin's unofficial keeper, but the only times he wasn't towing Merlin around the castle like a disobedient shadow, Merlin could be found in Gaius's quarters, listening to him talk, or sorting herbs or being constantly fed. (Gaius, it appeared, was as keen to put some meat on his bones as Arthur was.)****Gaius, to the castle's delight, was feeling more and more energized with each second that passed with Merlin there. The color was returning to his cheeks and he had already found the strength to get out of bed and dine with Merlin for more than one meal.**

**Gaius, however, promised that he hadn't seen Merlin since that morning's breakfast, sending Arthur off to the other side of the castle. **

**While Merlin****was improving, Arthur, on the other hand, was more stressed than ever. He was constantly giving orders, most of them concerning Merlin's well being. He managed even the small details- everything from, "Don't give him too much, I don't want him to vomit again," regarding a heavy breakfast tray, to, "Don't make the bathwater too hot, I don't want you to burn him." The servants rolled their eyes when Arthur's back was turned but all the same they were careful to make everything perfect.**

**By the time Arthur wanders outside to the training yard, he's annoyed, still lacking one large-eared-friend, and running low on patience. Arms crossed pointedly, he watches with a scowl as the Knights drill, and waits until he catches Gwaine's eye to summon him over.**

**He comes with a smile.**

**"Arthur," he greets, arms out, cape flapping, "about time you joined us!"**

**Arthur does not return the enthusiasm. "Where's Merlin?" he asks flatly.**

**Gwaine's hands fall to his sides. "I brought him out with us, thought he might like the fresh air."**

**"You didn't tell me."**

**Gwaine shrugs. "You were busy."**

**Somehow Arthur doesn't see this as an excuse.**

**"Well, I was **_**looking **_**for him."**

**"And now you've found him, haven't you?"**

**Arthur remains unamused.**

**"Listen," He says, shifting half a step closer and dropping his voice, "Do you have any idea how fragile Merlin is right now? He barely even communicates- What were you thinking, taking him outside- who know what might've happened? Seriously, it's irresponsible, Gwaine. I'm disappointed. As his friend, you should know better."**

**Gwaine adjusts his gloves, cooly. "So. You're just going to keep him locked up in the castle forever, then?"**

**Arthur snaps. "Don't be an idiot, Gwaine, I'm not locking him up, I'm protecting him!"**

**Gwaine stares back, unruffled.**

**"Gwaine!" Leon calls, jogging up to the pair, "Arthur, everything alright?"**

**"Just fine," Arthur answers, though his tone is unconvincing.**

**"Good," Leon claps Gwaine on the shoulder. "We should get back then. Can't leave Percy alone with the brigade for too long now, can we?" He gives a hearty laugh before wheeling around.**

**Gwaine retreats back a few steps, eyes still on Arthur, though his duties as a Knight are pulling him away. **

**"He looks plenty fine to me," he says, nodding toward an outlying slope, and with one final head shake to get the hair from his eyes, he returns to the Knights who are so patiently awaiting their next orders.**

**Arthur turns.**

**There is Merlin, relaxing in the grass on the hill as comfortably as if it were a feather bed, completely oblivious to his surroundings. The stem of a dandelion pokes through his lips and the yellow blossom bobs over his chin like his own personal sun. His arms are slung behind his head as he basks in the warmth. **

**He can't be sure, due to the distance, but Arthur is almost certain that's a smile he sees, tugging at the corners of Merlin's mouth... It's the happiest Arthur's seen Merlin since his return. That shuts Arthur's mouth more effectively than anything else. **

**After that incident, it becomes much more normal to see Merlin wandering the castle of his own accord, or hanging around the Knights, a silent witness as they rough-housed about, or just. **

**Sometimes he sought out the company of others and followed them relentlessly, like a pup. Other times he shut himself in his room and interacted with no one for hours on end.**

**For Arthur, having Merlin back in the castle was the greatest thing in the world, but simultaneously, the hardest.**

**888**

The first few weeks with his new master was a blur. Looking back, Merlin really didn't remember much except the pain- inside or out, it was in every breath and motion. Losing Freya made _existing _practically unbearable, and the hole inside his chest dwarfed everything else.

Practically... but not completely.

Because as it turned out, one of Boan's most favorite things in the world was punishing Merlin. What he said about not having time to 'discipline a slave' turned out to be completely untrue. One small mistake could earn him anything from a smack to a whipping, and he couldn't count the nights he spent strung up in the barn, shoulders and back stinging like fire. Sometimes it felt like every part of his body throbbed with incurable pain, every flake of his skin just barely clinging onto the frame of his bones, like one strong gust of wind could blow him away to dust.

Sometimes Merlin got hit just because Boan thought he looked like he needed a hitting. He would laugh at Merlin who would be nursing his cheek or his ribs or his arm and claim he was 'breaking him in.' The fact that he had become quite adept at ducking while in Arthur's servitude did him little good here because when Boan got it in his mind that Merlin needed to be hit, there was no stopping him until the blow had been delivered.

The first time Merlin managed to duck out of the way of a shoe that had been thrown at his head he had been secretly pleased with himself. He bent down, a smirk slowly forming on his lips- right up until he was blindsided from the right by Boan, who could move faster than any man his size ought to be able. The strike hurt twice as much as any shoe to the head, and he had since learned that it was beneficial to his health to just _let_ flying projectiles hit him. But even so, he remained quite sore and discolored. It hurt to hold things and it hurt to move and it hurt to breathe. This led to shoddier work, which led to more punishment, creating an endless cycle.

Boan's other favorite thing in the world was not his wife, and it was not his son, both of whom lived in the house with him. No, it was his dog, Zalbot. When Merlin had first learned of its existence he was hopeful to think he might have a potential friend in the creature. He was good with animals, in tune with them both as a sorcerer, and as he liked to think, a good-natured human. He was wrong.

The dog was almost as nasty as Boan himself, perhaps even more so. Boan at least let Merlin near him, like when Merlin was serving him food or polishing his boots or getting hit in the face. Zalbot, despite Merlin's best efforts, growled with an intensity that struck fear in his chest whenever he came within a ten foot radius of the canine. Merlin couldn't have fought off a dog on his best days- now that he was weaker and thinner than ever? He had no chance, and he lacked both the patience and energy to try to befriend it. He resolved to stay as far away as Zalbot wanted him to. He didn't fancy getting on the bad side of those yellowing fangs.

There were fifty other slaves on the farm, as Merlin had learned, but he never saw them much. He mainly was kept in and around the house while the others were outside, though sometimes Boan grabbed him and pulled him along too. Truthfully, he was jealous of the other slaves. At least they got to stay together, at least they got to talk to each other, have friends, maybe a family. Merlin remained apart from them. When at the end of the day they got to retire to their own tiny shelters, away from the house, Merlin only got to go as far as the barn- just a few meters. While the other slaves worked in groups, he worked solo. As impossible as it seemed, Merlin found himself missing the mine. Here, there were no moments of respite, and no time to catch his breath. Here he was much more closely monitored.

Every mistake was noticed, each slip-up glaringly his. Even though he'd never been close to any of the other slaves at the mine, he'd have chopped off his finger for some company now.

For Freya, he'd have chopped off his whole arm.

Merlin began his day before dawn when Boan came to release him from the barn. Boan didn't trust him not to try to make a run for it and he didn't trust him in the house, either; therefore he was chained up at the end of every day. Merlin spent his nights curled up on the hay like the animals. It did provide more comfort and warmth than those mats at the mine, and there was a particularly docile milking cow whom he was rather fond of, and didn't seem to mind when Merlin shared her stall. Luckily, the weather outside was still warm, but he dreaded to think of how he would cope when winter came.

Each day Merlin began by making breakfast for Boan, his wife, Ellyn, and his son, Hadrian, and serving it to them. He was to stand by at watch as they dined in order to get them anything they needed. He was not allowed to eat what they ate, and he was not allowed to eat as they ate. Between serving breakfast and cleaning up from breakfast he was somehow able to find the time stuff some table scraps down his throat. This could be anything from wilting lettuce to all the burnt meat bits. He ate in the corner with his fingers. Both spoons and tables were too good for slaves.

The dog, quite literally, ate better than him. As if Merlin needed another reason to hate Zabolt, the dog received food directly from the table- sometimes from Boan's own plate. To be honest he usually had half a mind to get down on the floor and start begging with him... The worst was that he had no chance to sneak any leftovers from the table himself, as there never was any. Boan and his rapidly expanding belly made sure of that.

Boan always made sure Merlin had enough to keep him working properly, but never enough to satisfy him. He was constantly hungry but that, at least, was nothing new.

Being on a farm also ensured a wide range of chores that Merlin was required to do on a daily basis. His responsibilities were mostly in the house and barn. They ranged from cooking and sewing to taking care of the animals. Occasionally, however, he was out in the field, sowing or planting or harvesting... it was those days he dreaded the most - hours in the hot sun, doing back-breaking work. Whatever he spent the day doing, he could be sure of one thing: by nightfall he was going to be exhausted.

Merlin hated how he could slowly feel himself sinking into this new life. He was awoken with Boan's foot in his ribs and it didn't even phase him anymore, and he _hated _it. He hated himself every time he let a shoe or a bowl hit him in the head. When he turned away before a blow came because he _expected _it, because he _knew_ it was coming. It made him sick to his stomach. He was _human. _This was not how humans were treated, and he didn't want to get used to it.

Perhaps the worst of it was the fact that sometimes, he could barely remember what his own voice sounded like. Boan didn't like it when he talked, and Merlin had learned fairly quickly that in terms of speech, less was more in. Not that Merlin had anyone to talk to anyway. Sometimes he found himself so lonely he would have murmured conversations with the barn animals, but they were never much help- only blinked at him and occasionally swatted him with their tails.

Arthur had always had his moments, but Merlin supposed he never fully realised how -

_Stop it. Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!_

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurt. Thinking about Arthur and Camelot was not only painful, it was stupid, too. Arthur wasn't coming for him.

Arthur- was- not- coming.

Merlin was a slave. He would be a slave for the rest of his unfortunate life, and there was no point wasting his time thinking anything different.

**888**

**He is a small boy, mousy and slightly out of breath, no more than eight. He has a smart jacket and groomed blonde hair. Almost at once, Arthur recognizes him as apprentice and nephew to the page; he had been seen several times hanging around the hem of his uncle's robes. His nervous face can barely peak over the table top. Arthur, Leon, and several of Camelot's finest, most renowned builders and carpenters had been crowded around it, discussing maps and plans and the state of 'this village' versus the state of 'that village.'**

**Now everyone's attention turns to this pale boy. He licks his lips and begins in a tremor, then suddenly remembering himself, snaps into a clumsy bow, almost smacking his head on the table's wooden edge.**

"**Sire," he addresses Arthur in a squeaky voice, who, in turn, gestures with one gloved hand for him to continue.**

"**I was told to keep the King informed on the state of his- of his old manservant."**

**Arthur's forehead wrinkles. "Yes, go on then."**

"**He's packing, Sire."**

"_**Packing?**_** What do you mean, he's **_**packing?**_**"**

**The boy****goes red in the face and draws back, both from the table and in volume.**

"**I mean," he says, hands twisting anxiously, "he's taking all of his things and some food and putting it into a bag?"**

**Arthur sighs. He turns to Leon, irritated, "Can you finish this up?"**

**Leon blanches, but is quick to recover. "Ah, yes. Yes, of course... I'll just...yes."**

**Arthur turns to the boy. "Show me."**

**Merlin is busy rolling up some bread in a cheesecloth when Arthur walks in. **

**Arthur feigns casualty.**

"**Hey Merlin," he greets, sauntering in, feeling overdressed in his crown and cape in front of Merlin who still looks like he was just a victim of a gross mugging.**

**He gets a small wave in response.**

**Arthur clears his throat, "Going somewhere?" he asks, unclipping his cape and draping it over the back of a chair****.**** Leaning over it, his gaze shifts down towards Merlin's bulging bag resting on the table.**

**Merlin nods without looking up, and Arthur's eyes rake over the contents of his bag. From what he can see, it contains only on outfit or two- the rest is food.**

"**Long trip?"**

**Merlin shrugs.**

**Arthur's lips purse. They had given Merlin parchment, ink, and a quill to carry around in a little bag, so whenever he needed to speak he could write it down instead. For reasons unbeknownst to Arthur, he rarely used them. It drives Arthur absolutely crazy. It was bad enough that he couldn't hear Merlin's words, but now he couldn't read them, either. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Merlin's shoulders and shake them, yelling, "Just write it down!"**

**But he supposed Merlin just didn't want to communicate much. It was just one more thing that made him so, so different from the Merlin that had left Camelot. That was a lad who never shut up.**

**Arthur sighs, looking up at his friend with all the patience he can muster. "Will you at least tell me where you're going?"**

**He's humoring Merlin, of course. He has no intentions of letting him ride off anywhere. For goodness sake he'd only just **_**arrived**_**. **

**Finally,****Merlin reaches for the inkwell. He scrawls one barely legible word.**

"**Ealdor." Arthur reads, and his stomach twists****.**** "To see your mother?"**

**Merlin nods, not looking up from rearranging the contents of his bag.**

**Arthur nods back, chewing on his cheek. Knowing Merlin was not going to like what he had to say next, he constructs his next sentence carefully.**

"**Here's the thing," he begins, splaying his fingers out on the table. "Ealdor is a two day ride... do you really think you're up for such a long journey?" **

**The change in Merlin is****immediate. His face sets, and his eyes darken. He nods firmly, arms crossed.**

**Arthur presses on anyway. "Merlin, really though, you've just gotten back, you're still ill, you need time to rest, you're not up for..." his words trail off into nothing as he catches the look on Merlin's face.**

"**Alright," he concedes, "how about, instead of you going, I'll send out some Knights to go and fetch her and bring her here?"**

**Merlin holds up four incredulous fingers.**

"**Yes," Arthur acknowledges, waving his arm in exasperation, "I realize that it would take a few extra days, but I really think that-" he cuts off abruptly as Merlin slams his open palm onto the tabletop, making a loud slap that almost makes Arthur jump. Since arriving Merlin had been nothing but quiet and complacent; closed off. This is the most aggressive Merlin's been since his return, and it takes Arthur by surprise. **

**He looks up, and their eyes meet. Merlin shakes his head, slowly.**

"**I'm not going to be able to stop you, am I?" Arthur asks after a pause.**

**Of course, physically, Arthur could. Merlin was never able to best him in a contest of pure strength, and in his current condition there was no question. A fifty pound weight could have stopped him.**

**But Arthur knows that restraining an abused friend, even if it's for a very good reason, is typically frowned upon.**

**Merlin shakes his head again.**

**Arthur sighs again.**

"**Right. We'll leave first thing tomorrow."**

**Merlin's eyebrows disappear into his hairline.**

**Arthur grins at his surprise.**

"**Come now, Merlin, be reasonable, it's the best I can do considering all the packing I have to do and the work I'll have to get through to clear up the next few days."**

**But Merlin continues to look surprised, and Arthur can't help but chuckle. "You didn't think I was going to let you go alone, did you?"**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6- wow can you believe it? Thanks for sticking with me this long, everyone!

IMPORTANT STUFF:***Special thanks to Zendog who was prompt and complimentary and helpful and just overall _lovely_ in beta-ing this chapter while Aseptic was busy, buried under a pile of essays. (I hope those are going well for you!)

One more thing: This story is rated M. Below is an example of why. Please be warned that this chapter contains materials that some readers might find disturbing.

Enjoy!

* * *

**After half a day's ride, it quickly becomes apparent that a two day journey was going to take them at least four. Riding even the most smoothly-gaited, well-tempered mare in Camelot's stables is obviously taking a toll on the bony skeleton that is Merlin. It is like watching a frail and decrepit old man trying to squeeze into the costume of his youth.**

**Even though Arthur knows Merlin is doing his best to hide ****it; ****he often catches the wince that flashes across his ex-manservant's face every time he goes over a particularly jarring path. When they had first started out on this journey Arthur hadn't been at all worried. Afterall, he and Merlin had gone on countless solo adventures before without any sort of hitch. On the contrary, he'd been excited- quite a change in attitude considering the fact that he had been against the whole thing to start with.**

**But then he really began to think about it... almost a whole week without guards, without meetings and rituals and ceremonies and all the pleasantries that he couldn't stand. Just him and Merlin- like the good old days. Perhaps this would even be healthy for Merlin, give him a chance to connect with someone... that someone being Arthur. It didn't escape his thoughts that just maybe he'd get a bit of insight on what had happened to Merlin during the past four years. Maybe it would help to get some of it off his chest, not that Arthur professed to be much in the "touchy feely" department. And okay, fine. He might have been dying of some sort of sick curiosity. But honestly, how could he not? In Arthur's experience, there was nothing that made men want to share the traumatic pasts more than gathering around a nice campfire. And Arthur had packed extra paper... just in case. **

**Now, however, he is about ready to rip his hair out.**

**The silence is absolutely maddening. It isn't the contented, friendly type either, no. This stillness is thick and heavy like humidity, uncomfortable like a wool blanket in summer and so very stifling. Arthur can hear everything, every****step of the horse's hooves, every twig snap, and every awkward saddle-shift. It isn't that he's opposed to nature or the silence itself, of course. It's the tension he protests to. To think he used to **_**beg**_** Merlin to shut up... now he'd give his sword arm to hear his voice.**

**The most maddening part about it is that it's **_**his**_** fault. After all, he could hardly expect Merlin to break it, could he? But the truth was Arthur doesn't know what to say, or, perhaps more importantly, what **_**not**_** to say... he doesn't even know what Merlin wants to hear. He's never been as good at reading people as he was with a sword, but sometimes he wishes he was.**

**Too add to the whole situation, he was feeling very out of place. He always did, whenever he was forced to wear someone else's clothes. He was in peasant attire, a disguise for traveling out of Camelot without his guards for protection. True, they had just won the war, but that didn't mean there weren't still people out there who'd like to kill him. He thinks these particular clothes belong to George... they itch. Just like George.**

**They ride on quietly, Arthur leading the way, trying to pick out the smoothest of paths; but it's difficult, for their journey leads deep into the forest. Eventually, Merlin's horse takes a small unprompted jump - more of a very large step, really- over a fallen log and the resulting jar makes Merlin actually grunt in pain. He turns it into a cough easily enough, and the old Arthur, the less attentive and observant man of but a few weeks ago, might have just let it go.**

**But not now. That, he decides, was more than enough for today.**

**He pulls back on the reins and makes a swift dismount. "Merlin," he calls, "let's stop and make camp."**

**He sees Merlin's face fall.**

**"Don't give me that look," he says sternly as he hitches up his stirrups, "I didn't eat before we left and I'm starving."**

**888**

During the week, Merlin spent most of his time cooped up next to Ellyn, either indoors or following her around town lugging her shopping. He used to prefer this- at least he was in the shade, away from the hot sun and Boan's heavy hand. For a time his muscles were free from the ache and strain of heavy physical labor as he was sewing or cleaning or dusting...

After all, Ellyn never hit him- and even if she did, he doubted any blow from her small frame and thin arms would sting very much. Not compared to what he got from her husband, anyway.

But very soon, he hated her company- despised it more than being with Boan and Zabolt together. He hated the days he had to spend at her side. He detested her, and he detested being within a meter of her foul mouth.

The difference was... she _talked _to him. And somehow, that was much, much worse. Well, she would talk _at_ him which was almost the same thing. At first, he didn't mind it... he had been talking to barn animals for the past few weeks, but they weren't very good company. To have a voice talk to him when it wasn't barking orders... it was wonderful. He was a man dying of thirst and her words were a poisoned well.

He was darning when it first happened. Despite his time in the castle he'd had minimum practice with sewing as it was usually reserved for the women and ladies in waiting. He'd patched the odd ceremonial shirt when the need arose, but his skill in at area remained very incomplete. Having pricked his thumb (for the third time) while trying to navigate the heel of one of Boan's disgusting socks, his fingers were stuffed in his mouth, sucking on the blood that beaded from the pin-point.

While nursing his hand, socks temporarily abandoned in his lap, Ellyn leaned over from the chair next to his to examine the work. She'd taken one scathing look before turning her cold eyes to Merlin's.

"It's a beautiful day outside," she said clearly, "Camelot must look stunning. It always does, in the spring."

And as Merlin's mouth fell open, she went back to her own needle… just like that.

His brain came to a screeching halt. His heart skipped a beat, and then went into double time.

How she had found out that he was from Camelot he knew not, but that didn't make the comment hurt any less.

Camelot... he hadn't let himself think of Camelot since he first came to this godforsaken place, but now the images came unbidden.

Damn, she was right. Camelot was gorgeous in the spring, with the trees green, or laden with blossoms, stretching out their limbs in the sun. He could see the palace gamekeepers puttering around the castle grounds, helping the flower's bright faces peek from the earth.

The Knights would be taking advantage of warm weather like this. They'd be out by the training fields, maybe for the first time all spring, challenging each other at swords and archery.

Every spring Gwaine always managed to corner Arthur into a duel of ridiculous odds: three on one, with Gwaine, Percy, and Leon all ganging up against Arthur. They were constantly pushing him, stacking the odds against him, waiting to see how far they had to press before they could break him. They'd yet to succeed. Partly, Merlin thought, because they didn't want to. Arthur's skills with a sword were legendary, and to see him fail would have been something of a disappointment. Besides, is there really any glory in beating a man three on one?

They'd dance around, taking turns attacking him, egging each other on with insults. Merlin would stand by the fence and watch, laughing until his sides hurt.

His heart ached.

He had to struggle to keep his breathing even, struggle not to panic.

He missed home so much.

'_Stop it_.' he told himself. He dug the needle purposefully into his hand now, using the physical pain to keep his chest from collapsing. '_Stop it and shut up. You are home. This is home now_.'

It was too painful to think that he might never go back.

He used to _long_ for someone, _anyone_ to talk to him... but every time Ellyn opened her mouth he begged for silence.

And at first he granted her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she really was trying to connect with him. Maybe she really wanted a friend too, and she only happened to throw out a crippling comment by horrible coincidence.

But the comments only got worse. Sometimes they rendered him almost unable to breathe.

Once while hauling a pot of water, he'd spilled nearly half of it, sending it seeping into the floorboards.

He'd tensed up, hunched his shoulders. He'd expected a slap, a yell, a blow... but the words that came next were far worse than any strike.

Her eyes swept over the damage in a detached manner.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" she asked quietly, "about your little slave friend. She was so lovely."

It brought Freya's radiant smile into the dark of his mind like a glinting knife. For the first time since arriving he'd had to blink back tears; for once not fighting off aching numbness, but actual horrible pain.

It was a few moments before he'd been able move, his fingers unclenching from the fist they had formed on their own.

What's more, was that Merlin quickly realized that he had no name here. They knew what it was- knew, because he had, at one point, told them it, much to his regret the next day.

But here he was just called 'Slave.'

"Slave, come here."

"Slave, do this."

"_Slave,_ hurry up."

Day in and day out, until one day he woke up and realized it had been months since anyone had ever said his name out loud. Not since-

It was so bad, that some nights found him curled up on his small pile of hay, fingers stuffed into his ears, whispering to himself over and over and over, "My name is Merlin, my name is Merlin, my name is Merlin..." until sleep took him.

**888**

**That morning, Arthur awakes to the smell of cooking breakfast and sizzling bacon. He almost forgets he is in the heart of the forest until he opens his eyes and finds himself staring at a stretch of pale ankle peeking out of its trouser leg. Merlin's ankle, to be exact. He was perched on an overturned log that was nestled quite comfortably behind Arthur's head like nature's own headboard.**

**His gaze swivels to where Merlin is jiggling a pan over the flames, currents of steam gently lifting and twisting away. Arthur's heavy eyelids drift shut once more. The fire is nice and warm, and the scent of bacon urges him to go nowhere fast. They have a long day of riding ahead of them and he wants to get all the rest he can.**

**Then as suddenly as if someone had tossed cold water on him, he sits up, eyes jumping open once more. He twists, looking back at that pale ankle.**

**"Merlin!" he yells loudly, and reaching out without so much as a warning, grabs Merlin's trouser leg and yanks it halfway up his calf. Merlin instantly tries to pull away but Arthur's hand snakes out and grasps his leg tightly. Splattered over his leg are milky-white wounds: hard and raised puncture wounds, old and scarred over. They twist over his flesh, forming a perfect bite mark.**

**"Merlin!" Arthur cries again as he finally manages to yank his foot away from Arthur's stunned hands. "You got attacked by a dog!" It wasn't a question. Arthur would recognise dog bites anywhere; they have more than their share of wild packs of them near Camelot.**

**That is it. The straw that broke the camel's back. Arthur can handle the whip scars and the malnutrition and even the missing tongue. He realises that Merlin is traumatized. He understands that Merlin doesn't want to talk about it. He truly does know that it isn't really his place to ask, even if he is **_**dying**_** of curiosity. But this is just one scar too many.**

**"What happened?" He asks as Merlin hastily tugs his trouser leg down. As if putting it out of sight might make Arthur forget altogether. He glances up at Arthur, who was staring at him, eyes wide and hands out, clearly stunned and hoping for some sort of explanation.**

**Merlin sighs.**

**Left hand out flat, palm up. His right hand runs a little figure across it.**

**Arthur, who is just beginning to get over his shock, sits next to Merlin on the log, taking in this information.**

**"Tried to run, huh?" he asks, clasping his hands in his lap.**

**Merlin nods, and Arthur nods with him, staring into the fire.**

**There's a pause. Then Arthur turns with a sudden thought. "Is that how...?" he gestures to his mouth.**

**Making a face, Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur nods, once more.**

**Another pause.**

**"Well, Merlin," he says finally, "I can't say I'm surprised. You were always shit at running."**

**Merlin bumps his shoulder into Arthur's.**

**Arthur bumps his back.**

**And just like that, for the moment at least, things are okay.**

**888**

Summertime now, and even though he was inside and shaded, he could feel the heat crawling through his clothes and moistening his skin. His arms and shoulders ached in protest against his repetitive actions. He was almost done with the floor, having scrubbed everything from the wall to the fireplace and now he had only one small section in front of the door to complete.

Unlike sewing, Merlin had got plenty of practice at this at the castle. It had taken him the better part of the afternoon, but he had to admit, the floor looked good. He hated to feel proud (or any kind of positive emotion for that matter) toward slave work, but he couldn't help himself. He could practically see his reflection in the once-filthy floorboards. He'd done a damn good job. Besides, the residents of the house had vacated so he could scrub, leaving him alone for several hours. So, all in all, it hadn't been such a terrible day.

Sitting back on his heels and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked up just in time to see Boan, a bucket clutched in his thick hands, standing in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor as the door swung open with a loud bang.

He was covered head to foot in dirt.

Before Merlin could so much as draw a breath he was halfway across the kitchen.

His deliberately heavy footsteps sent clods of muck scattering every which way across the once shining surface. Muddy footprints were left in his wake.

Hot fire sprang up in Merlin's chest. Half a day's work down the bloody drain, that's what this was. Not enough that they'd waste his whole life, his goddamn afternoon had to be shot to hell too.

His grip tightened almost painfully around the horsehair brush. How he would have loved to simply take aim and throw it as hard as he could... his arm tingled at the thought.

But Boan, having slammed his bucket on the table and shot Merlin a nasty grin that made Merlin's stomach twist angrily, was already out the door again.

Merlin tossed the brush down in disgust. He'd have to start all over again- sweep out the big clumps Boan had sent everywhere with his stupidly large feet. Bloody hell, he had been nearly done and now this would take him another two bloody hours and his shoulders were already hot and sore.

Rubbing his hands in frustration over his face, with gritted teeth he glared at the offending bucket. Whatever was in there had to be something bloody important -

Merlin did a double take. His anger drained away as quickly as it had come.

Blueberries.

That's what was in the bucket- dark blue and plump.

His stomach growled. His mouth watered. He hadn't had blueberries in over a year. He couldn't remember wanting to eat anything so badly his entire life. He could already taste them - sweet and cool on his tongue, filling his never endingly empty stomach.

_'Bad idea, Merlin_,' he told himself; but he was already standing.

_'Don't do it._' his hips bumped the table edge.

_'You're going to get the shit beaten out of you._' His hands were reaching forward even though he tried to stop them.

_'You're going to regret this_,'

'_I don't care_!'

Nothing in living memory had ever tasted so good. Boan could reach in his mouth and pull out his liver and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring himself to regret this decision.

He fell on them, eating them by the handful and the bursts of flavour in his mouth were past heavenly. Sweet, tangy and juicy. He was glad- glad he had done this even if he only got to eat a few. Just to have this moment, this small measure of happiness, even if his heart was pounding double time in his chest, even if he got caught, even if-

Footsteps.

He wiped his hands quickly on his trousers, choking down the food already in his mouth and darted back to where he was cleaning before. With his eyes intently on the ground, he stuffed his hands into the soapy water and slapped it onto the floor before scrubbing vigorously.

He kept his head down as he heard clomping of footsteps change from the muffled thud of ground outside to the sharp click of the floorboards.

He kept his head down, but watched anxiously through his lashes as the boots he knew belonged to Boan walked themselves across the floor. They stopped at the table. They hesitated. Merlin was watching so intently he had to remind his arm to keep working. The swish of bristle against floor and the pounding of his own heart in his ears were the only noises that filled the foreboding silence.

The boots shifted towards him. "Slave!" he barked.

Merlin's blood froze in his veins. While only a second ago he was high on defiance, right now he was very much wishing to not receive a beating.

And the day had started out so well, too.

"Slave! Come here." Merlin went with no shortage of reluctance. He was sure his paranoia must be written all over his face; he'd always been a crap liar. He was never sure what to do with his arms. Should he cross them? Was that too suspicious? Letting them hang just seemed so unnatural... Shit, what did he normally do with them?

But Boan was wholly unconcerned with the state of his arms. "Slave," he growled, one meaty palm massaging his fist, "What happened here?" he tilted his head toward the bucket.

Merlin stayed silent. There was no _possible_ correct answer here. Besides, he was hesitant to open his mouth. No doubt his tongue was stained purple.

This didn't seem to please Boan either. "_Slave_," he yelled, now with an accompanying bang on the tabletop that, to his chagrin, made Merlin start. The angry man rounded nearer, putting his great unfortunate face closer to Merlin's.

"Open your mouth, slave." He said, now quiet.

Merlin's stomach turned over. For a moment he struggled- would it really be wise to incriminate himself? But it came down to this: if he didn't open his mouth... Boan would no doubt open it for him.

His trembling lips parted only slightly, barely enough to get a few words out. Then he figured, why drag it out? And let his jaw fall open.

Immediately, there were two slams- Boan's hand into the side of his face, and his face into the table. Merlin cried out as his head bounced on the surface, instinctively struggling but Boan had a firm grip on his hair, pressing his face into table. It made thrashing around much more painful. He stilled instantly, doing his best to stay calm and sucking in shaky breaths of air through pursed lips. Boan lowered his head, his foul breath hot in Merlin's ear.

"You filthy, thieving, piece of shit." His hand twisted slightly and the side of Merlin's nose began to press into the wood.

Merlin tasted blood. He must have bitten his cheek when his head went down. The hard surface rubbed unforgivingly on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"Stealing from me? After everything I've so generously provided for you?"

"By the looks of it, stealing food from you, Boan, can only help you out."

Unlike the blueberries, Merlin instantly regretted this. The words flew from his mouth before he even knew he had said them. He didn't know what possessed him to say it. Perhaps the new lifestyle change had sucked away what was left of his self-preservation. Perhaps that last slam on the table knocked out the last of his good sense. Either way, if he hadn't been in a lot of trouble before... he certainly was now.

Boan howled in rage. Merlin's head was lifted up and then slammed back down again. He winced at the impact, a soft grunt slipping through his lips. The right side of his face would have a lovely bruise tomorrow.

Later that night, when his aching wrists were let down from the ceiling, and his body slumped forward onto the hay, his back slashed and bloody, his body weak and sore, he was left, not alone, but with Boan's parting words ringing in his ears.

"Steal from me again, Slave, and I'll cut off your hands."

Merlin managed a small smile into the straw. It was an empty, empty threat. Boan would never cut off his hands. He'd have no one to clean.

**888**

**On the third day of their travels, Arthur takes over the cooking. This, however, does not happen without a great deal of protest from Merlin, and a fair amount of hand-slapping from Arthur. Merlin isn't keen to let Arthur anywhere near his cooking pot, but Arthur has been very stubborn about it, ignoring all of Merlin's **_**exasperated**_** glances and dramatic sighs.**

**What he is really upset about, Arthur figures, was not the fact that he isn't allowed to boil his own potatoes, but that he is no longer contributing equally. They both know that Arthur isn't the reason that their travel time was nearly going **_**double**_** and now that Arthur has stripped him of his only responsibility... Well he can understand why Merlin is feeling like dead weight... And if he ever knew Merlin, he knew that he hated feeling useless. Arthur sympathizes. He, also, hates the feeling.**

**The only thing is that he doesn't much care about Merlin's desire to contribute at the moment. He cannot, in good conscience, watch Merlin barely able to stumble through shaky dismounts with wobbly knees day after day, and then sit back, relax and watch him cook. So today, Arthur finally puts his foot down. You'd have thought Merlin would be more grateful...**

**Yet, he seems to have finally adjusted to the idea... at the moment he is propped against a tree trunk, head nodding rhythmically onto his chest as he struggles to stay awake. The sun has barely begun to set, but each new day never fails to exhaust Merlin.**

**Arthur turns back to the steaming pot to stir, a smile playing about his lips. To be perfectly honest, he can't see why Merlin always used to complain about the cooking. It is turning out, in Arthur's opinion, to be very easy. He hasn't done much cooking before- alright, any cooking before, and he had been expecting quite a challenge, but to his pleasant surprise, it doesn't seem to be one.**

**He'd fetched some water, put it over the fire and then started tossing in whatever food they had in their packs. A bit of this, a lot of that, and pinch of whatever that was... And there you have it- stew. Arthur doesn't like to compliment himself (okay, yeah he does but he thought in this case he damn well deserved it) but it smelled delicious.**

**If only the Knights could see him now... Crouching over a cooking pot, ladle in hand...no doubt they'd have a laugh over it. They'd teased him in the past, saying how if Merlin ever got fed up and quit and Arthur had to get his own food he'd starve before he figured out how to boil water. Then of course, Merlin went missing and everyone thought he'd died a gruesome death at the hands of criminals and the joke stopped being very funny.**

**Only, Arthur hadn't starved, obviously, though he held out so long that he might have... He'd refused George, refused all the new faces that kept popping up in his chamber week after week. He didn't have any intention of getting a new servant until Merlin quit or died, and since he was convinced that neither had taken place...**

**Breakfast to his room was halted. Instead, he ventured down to the kitchens to get it himself. His chambers became a horrible stinking mess, which he refused to be let clean; despite the most logical and pointed arguments from Morgana that living in filth would hardly bring Merlin back.**

**It was his father that finally forced George on his son after about a month or so. He had to actually order Arthur to let George serve him- to Arthur's great annoyance. Straightaway he'd done everything in his power to make sure George knew that his position was **_**temporary only**_**. George had only answered with an "Of course, sire," and offered him a smile and an array of breakfast foods.**

**An offer he'd repeated every day for the next four years.**

**And then there was that **_**unfortunate**_** incident with that one Knight...**

**It was at least their tenth search party. Merlin had been missing over two months. At this point, every man that could be spared from the barracks was being organized into groups and sent out to the woods.**

**They were getting more and more systematic, less frantic and more careful. People- not Arthur, but some people- began to think they were looking not so much for a person but for a body.**

**Gwaine, Percy, Leon and Elyan all led their own patrols; each of which covered different sections of Camelot.**

**Leon was just finishing debriefing everyone on their instructions when Arthur entered the hall, joined the back of the group, sword in sheath, ready to go.**

**"-Western border. Then we'll circle back around and meet up in Sir Elyan's sector. Any questions?"**

**"Yeah, I've got one," drawled a voice, "How come we're wasting so much time and energy looking for a bloody **_**servant**_**? Can't Prince Arthur just get a new one? Hell, I've got five, he can have one if that means I don't have to waste another day in the woods looking for someone who's **_**clearly**_** long gone."**

**There were several nods and murmurs running throughout the room that indicated that he wasn't the only one who thought this way. Leon opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur beat him to it.**

**"I'll handle this one, if you don't mind, Sir Leon," he said coolly as every head turned toward him. He watched the colour****drain from the Knight's face with some satisfaction.**

**"Merlin is not only a great and loyal servant... but a great and loyal friend. Although he was not born in Camelot, he loves it like his home. He has been willing to die for Camelot... and for me- a fact which he has proved over and over again. There is **_**nothing**_** he isn't willing to do for his friends. He would **_**never**_** leave anyone behind, or turn his back on **_**anyone**_** in need, and we're not going to do that to him now. If anyone is having a **_**problem**_** performing their duties as a Knight, they can turn in their armour and their capes right now, **_**understood**_**?"**

**So perhaps others in the castle thought he had acted childishly- refusing to let his room be cleaned, stubbornly trying to dress himself each morning... And looking back he supposes he could see it that way...**

**But that isn't the way he chooses to remember it. During that time he'd thought only of Merlin and how he'd hate to come back to the castle to find his job had been given away.**

**Arthur would imagine his voice ringing through the hallway, full of irritation, yet somehow still teasing: "What's this? I'm gone for three measly weeks and you already replace me? Can't you put your own shirt on for once, you royal prat?"**

**He'd longed to hear those words... But they were never said- not by Merlin, not by anyone. **

**George did a damn good job as his manservant, but they were never anything closer than prince and servant. It would have somehow seemed an insult to Merlin's memory to become as friendly with the next servant as he had with Merlin; because the simple fact was Merlin could not be replaced. And even though physically, George could wear a blue neckerchief and stand where Merlin stood... it just wasn't the same starting each day without that overly chipper "Rise and shine!" But Arthur had got used to his absence, as did the rest of the castle... But he never forgot. He never enjoyed, and he never replaced. **

**And so, despite everything that had happened, he is proud of his damn soup, and considers it an accomplishment.**

**With one final tap of the ladle against the rim, he reaches for their bowls and fills them up generously.**

**"Merlin," he calls, fitting the bowl directly into his hands. He watches as Merlin digs in. Spoon transfers food to his eager mouth and it goes down without so much as a hitch. Invigorated by Merlin's approval of the meal, he is quick to try his own bowl... and nearly spits it back out. Gagging, he reaches for his canteen takes several large gulps. He should not have put so much confidence in his cooking skills. What he made turned out to be little more than hot tasteless mush- except for the meat. The meat had been reduced to disgustingly hard and chewy cubes.**

**Arthur lets a large unappetizing spoonful of the stuff splash back down into its bowl. There is no way he would be able to manage more than a few bites... So much for a filling dinner...**

**He chances a dubious glance at Merlin, but he's completely absorbed, eating with as much enthusiasm as any other meal, which for Merlin is quite a lot.**

**Arthur's eyebrows furrow. Surely... surely Merlin could not still be that hungry? To be starving to such a degree that even this disgusting attempt at domesticity tasted good?**

**Merlin... had a tendency to eat himself sick since he had returned. He would literally consume everything he could get his hands on. It was part of the reason why Arthur had to become so careful with his food. He knew all about Merlin's habits of hanging about the kitchens, hoping for scraps...and he knew that Gwaine could never say no to those big, sad, blue eyes when Merlin was asking him to sneak out a plate of biscuits.**

**But in the past few days, regular meals had done him wonders. He'd already started using his silverware again- something Arthur assumed that he'd got pretty used to doing without.**

**So why was he still so hungry that overdone mush tasted good? Perhaps Merlin wasn't adjusting as well as Arthur had thought. Maybe his caretaking skills left a little to be desired...**

**"Merlin," he begins, his face scrunching as he sets his dinner aside, "how can you **_**eat **_**that..." he gestures toward the bowl in Merlin's hands."I mean can't you even **_**taste**_** it?"**

**Merlin glances up with a contemplative look on his face. He holds out his hand flat, and tilts it back in forth in a so-so motion.**

**Arthur's eyebrows rise. "Are you telling me you can't **_**taste **_**things anymore?" he asks, straightening up a bit.**

**Merlin holds his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart, shrugging his shoulders simultaneously.**

**"What? Because of your tongue?"**

**Merlin nods, and Arthur winces. "I'm sorry," he says seriously, "that...that is terrible."**

**It's just one more thing to digest about Merlin. It really is a horrible fate... Arthur didn't know what he'd do if suddenly couldn't taste...he couldn't think of anyone less deserving of such a dull, horrible punishment.**

**He settles back down, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly remembering Merlin's first meal in Camelot, draws breath once more. "Merlin, how do you feel about... Asparagus?"**

**Merlin makes a face and shakes his head. Arthur's head tilts back at the force of his laughter.**

**And Merlin, though he can't have known why, joins in.**

**888**

The weather had once again turned bitter and chilly when, for the first time ever, Merlin was not chained up at night. Boan obviously considered him too fatigued, too weak, or too despondent to make a run for it.

He was wrong on all counts.

It was the spark that rekindled Merlin's determination to escape. Despite the fact that he continually struggled to accept that his was his present and future (his past better off being forgotten) he couldn't not try. Not when they left the door wide open for him.

He stayed up late, until he was sure everyone was asleep. With his eyes wide open he lay still, gathering his courage, feeling the fear, the adrenaline pump through his veins. And then, after a short moment of deliberation, he cracked open the door... and just walked out.

It was so amazingly simple, after all that build up... there was no lock no guards... if he could just get far enough away from this horrible place he'd be free! He was walking on air...

For about ten yards. That's when the barking started- loud, frantic and heart-shattering. As soon as Merlin saw the black shape lunge from the house doorstep, he snapped himself around, a complete turnabout without so much as breaking a stride. But even so, he wasn't able to get the barn door closed fast enough.

Merlin rammed his shoulder against it, but the dog managed to get caught between the door and the frame, claws scrabbling against the dirt floor for leverage, foaming spittle dripping from its snarling lips. It didn't stop Zabolt; it only seemed to piss him off. Merlin considered giving him a kick, but he didn't relish putting any limb of his body near those snapping teeth.

Thrashing and twisting madly, Zabolt forced his way inside, in spite of Merlin who was bracing himself against the door as the cows started to low in fright. As soon as Zabolt's matted tail crossed the threshold, he launched itself at Merlin, and latched onto his ankle. Teeth sharp as knives seemed to dig straight through to his bones, his skin no more than soft butter.

The growling, barking, lowing, and Merlin's resulting screams were more than enough to bring Boan in from the house. He was more than happy to sit back and laugh as Merlin rolled around the blood-spattered ground; gasping in pain, tears cleaning trails off dirty cheeks, desperately trying to pry Zabolt's jaws from around his leg. He'd limped for weeks after. Of course that didn't stop Boan from doling out his own punishment.

**888**

**Day four. Not as much progress is made this day as Arthur, and no doubt Merlin, would have liked, but their travels are cut short due to an unexpected bout of rain. Now they are huddled up together under a lucky chunk of rock that jettisoned out from a hillside over a convenient spit of dry land.**

**It had been a cold dinner for them both (bread and cheese) as any attempts to start a fire and cook in this downpour would have been nothing short of foolhardy. Under their little shelter there is no room to even sit up, so they lay, side by side, in an attempt to ward off both the rain and accompanying chill that comes with it.**

**Merlin rolls onto his side, turning to look out toward the sheets of rain. Pursing his lips, he gives a deep sigh and Arthur can **_**feel**_** the annoyance coming off of him in waves. Merlin just wants to get home so badly... He puts what he hopes is a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder.**

**"We'll get there." he says solemnly, "I promise." and rolls onto his side too, so they lay face to face. He doesn't really have anything else to say, but now Merlin is gazing at him quite expectantly, and Arthur finds himself scrambling for something more, something motivational, like he would say to his Knights before a battle.**

**"I-I've been spending a lot of time with Gaius lately." He doesn't really plan on saying this- it just sort of slips out, but it does seem to be the thing to lighten Merlin's spirit. His eyebrows lift in curiosity, an invitation to go on.**

**"Yeah," Arthur gives a weak grin, "well I mean, as much time as I can spare... we've been trying to track down those runes on your collar... did you know Gaius has about a **_**hundred**_** books on just... Magic-y language-y... **_**things**_**?"**

**Merlin's smirk tells him yes.**

**"Course you did..." he can't help his grin. "Anyway, we've been looking through them constantly... Well. He's been looking through them. I haven't been much help I'm afraid. Apparently, I 'couldn't tell the front end of a griffin from the back.'" his bitter tone makes it obvious that he's quoting Gaius's direct words.**

**"But I have been trying..." he continues, "We haven't found anything yet... But we're going to keep ****on looking****." he gives a small smile.**

**Merlin stares back, silent as always, not smiling, not frowning just... Blank.**

**Arthur's heart rate speeds up, though he's not sure why. It's **_**eerie,**_** Merlin staring at him like that.**

**"I...I know you've been in that collar for- for a long time..." he swallows, "but... You're not going be in it much longer... I promise you."**

**Almost of their own accord, two of his chilled fingers trail up Merlin's shirt, his shoulder****;**** trace over that collar and rest on the warmth of his cheek.**

**Fire burns through Arthur's veins. Alarm bells ring in his head.**

**He ignores them.**

**He watches Merlin's Adam's apple bob up and down.**

**When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse. "I- you've been through so much... but... You're home now. Everything's going to be fine." His mouth keeps moving, but he's not one hundred percent sure of what he's saying because, somehow, his face has drifted closer to Merlin's- too close, inappropriately close, and it's highly distracting. He's sure Merlin must be able to hear his heart pounding away in his chest. His face looks very wary, and so very, very sad.**

**His eyes bore into Arthur- bore into his very soul.**

**So little air separates them...just a few ****centimeters****and their lips could touch... and suddenly Arthur is staring at the back of Merlin's head.**

**He's rolled over.**

**Arthur's heart stutters to a stop. His hand falls awkwardly back to his side as he rolls over too, looking back out at the rain.**

**'**_**What**__** are you playing at Arthur...**_**' he thinks to himself. '**_**Get yourself together.**_**'**

**Even so, his stomach drops like a stone, and he can feel rejection like a scar in his chest.**

**888**

During the winter months, Merlin was permitted to sleep inside the house. Not, of course, because of any empathy in his direction. And certainly not because for the past week Boan had found him blue-lipped, shivering, and covered in a crispy layer of frost on his hay pile. He was permitted to stay in the house during the coldest nights only so that he would be able to tend the fire as the residents slept, making it nice and warm for when they awoke.

Despite his new spot in front of the fire, he found himself quite chilly. In fact, he was freezing, and no amount of blankets or flame could stop him from shaking.

He found out more about Ellyn in front of that fire than he ever wanted to know, and that was almost enough to make him miss the barn.

It was the same thing every night, but knowing what was coming did not make it any easier to stomach.

First there was murmuring, low voices speaking, Boan's and Ellyn's too low for Merlin to hear. But soon they turned fierce- one voice hot and angry, the other small, scared, and protesting.

Merlin curled up into himself. He brought his knees up to his chest and stuffed his fingers into his ears because he knew exactly what was coming next. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. Sometimes... sometimes he wished he couldn't hear at all. Then he wouldn't know what Ellyn's voice sounded like when it was begging.

But it always cut off quickly once the hitting started. The vicious sounds of open handed smacks; and the small defenseless gasps that always came after seemed to cut off the air to Merlin's lungs. They filled the house more fully than anything so dark and secret had a right to. Merlin, who lay curled up no more than a few yards from the whole ordeal, had a front row seat to everything he would have preferred not to know about.

Slowly, as he listened, his insides dissolved into ice water that chilled him to the core. He knew what was coming next, and it made his stomach churn. He would have liked to hum to himself- talk, sing, bang pots together, anything to drown out the noise... but his instincts told him to be as quiet as possible. So he folded into himself; made his whole body small- as small as a mindless bug crawling across the floor, plugged his ears, and pretended he was elsewhere.

He pretended he couldn't hear the angry voice melting into a cacophony of grunts. He pretended he couldn't hear the muffled rustling, the endless writhing. And when that was over, with one final nauseating groan, the soft sniffling, the uneven breathing... almost undetectable as crying; except by those who've cried like that before.

Even as he lay, a captive audience, trapped on all sides by all senses, his heart bleed for her. He knew, in spite of everything, he'd help her. Stop it, if he could.

After that first night, no matter how hard Merlin tried, he could never hate Ellyn in the same way again. After all, in a way, she was just as trapped as he was.

**888**

**Arthur could tell that they were getting close. Not because he knows where he's going, and not because he remembers any landmarks from that one visit oh so many years ago. It's because every five minutes Merlin starts shooting these silly smiles over his shoulder to Arthur... And the closer they get, the sillier the smiles become.**

**Honestly, his enthusiasm is a little childish... but at the same time, extremely infectious. So much so, in fact, that Arthur is soon grinning stupidly to himself even though he doesn't have a single thing to look forward to in Ealdor.**

**...Except maybe Merlin's face, when he finally sees his mother.**

**He's feeling more and more confident about the trip, really. I mean Merlin had opened up to him a bit, hadn't he? Arthur had found out about the ankle... he**** got**** him to not cook... that was progress, right?**

**The open air, the forest, time away from all those prying people at the castle... he is convinced that it was good for Merlin... not to mention himself. Sometimes he felt like all the duties of being King were absolutely crushing him.**

**He doesn't fancy everything that'll be waiting for him on his return- paperwork, delayed meetings back to back... everyone waiting on his final word, his official decisions.**

**He hadn't got clearance for this long of a trip. Two days there, two days back... no one had anticipated eight days of total traveling time. It was frustrating at first****;**** knowing all that work was just piling up... but at the moment he doesn't mind too much.**

**Because... being with Merlin has been worth every second.**

**Ahead of him, Merlin makes an excited noise, and without looking back he urges his horse into a trot, and then a canter.**

**Laughing, Arthur quickly follows.**

**It's here****;**** it must be, past the edge of these last trees. He's so excited for Merlin, so excited to see his face alight with the joy only loved ones can bring. **

**And he's laughing, laughing like he hadn't in ages, and he's not even sure why but all the same it feels wonderful. **

**Just past the edge of the forest, Merlin brings his horse to a sharp stop with Arthur close behind. His face is drained of colour, mouth open, eyes desolate.**

**"Oh..." Arthur gasps, "Merlin..."**

**Where Ealdor **_**should**_** be, there is nothing more than rubble and scorched earth.**

**888**

Sometimes, as his second spring in this loathsome place was rolling in, he'd lay down at night, surrounded by his nest of straw and several indifferent cows; and he would stare up at the ceiling with blank eyes and contemplate his future.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that there was never much to contemplate. He had no future. He was only a slave- his future was mapped out for him.

There was no escaping this place- he'd learned that lesson the hard way... several times. When he looked ahead all he could see was this horrible existence, this humiliating lifestyle where he was treated. like. an. animal.

This was his life. He was a slave through and through. He'd live in this damn barn and serve this foul disgusting man and his son, and his sons and their sons.

Until his will broke. Until his mind broke. Until, finally, his body broke.

And then what? When he was too old to lift an axe? When his hands shook too badly to serve them dinner? Would they kill him?

Probably. It would be the kindest act they would ever do for Merlin. Death would be a relief. He had no one: if he died the people who cared wouldn't know and the people who knew wouldn't care. He had nothing: no future, no possessions, no one to care for and no one to care for him.

His only escape was death, and he'd be glad when it came.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello! I won't keep you, but first: A huge Thank you goes out to Nooka who so very very kindly beta'd this chapter for me. THANK YOU!  
And another Thank You goes out to Aseptic, who started beta-ing, but was unable to finish.

And a third thank you goes out to all of you! Thank you for showing up and (presumably) reading!

* * *

**For a few moments there is only silence. The kind of silence that saturates Arthur's skin and chills his heart- the kind not even the wind dares break.**

**Even though Arthur knows how the village had once looked, he could not recreate it in his mind. Where the streets and buildings had been was impossible to tell as rubble overlaid the earth like a thick coating of snow. Charred and broken wood was everywhere, all sharp angles, sticking out like bones. Scraps of fabric, a blackened pot... evidence that this place had once been called home was scattered at their feet. Half of a burned house frame still stood stubbornly in the midst of the debris, a skeleton of what it used to be. **

**Arthur's stomach turns over.**

**Shock keeps them both in its frosted fingers, but not for long. Merlin jumps from his horse. He takes two stumbling steps forward into his new, refurbished village. **

**Arthur, from where he sits speechlessly on his own horse, can see his friend shaking. Merlin's unsteady hands rise to cover his mouth, his face, and finally, grip his hair like he might just rip himself in two. **

**Arthur, overcoming the stiffness of shock, scrambles down.**

**"Merlin." His horror-struck wh****isper is the only sound that breaks the eerie silence. He stretches out his hand to touch Merlin's shoulder. Even though this is... was Merlin's home, Arthur doesn't want to stay. He has a sudden desire to jump back on their horses and run as fast as they can in the other direction. It's his first instinct to get Merlin as far from this horror and devastation as he can, away, where he can't see such terrible things. **

**But before ****his ****hand can so much as brush Merlin's shirt****, he l****ets out a breathy noise trapped between a sob and a gasp, and takes off. Arthur is left to play catch up.**

**Merlin's childhood crunches beneath his feet as he runs. He'd been born somewhere, underneath all this rubble... eaten and slept and worked and lived, perhaps in the very space Arthur was running through now. **

**Not only were the buildings that had made this village his home gone, but more importantly, so were the people. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone. Friends, neighbors, people you've grown up knowing. Smiling faces that tell you that you're home, with your own warm bed, hot meals, and the satisfaction of knowing that, yes, this is where you belong- that you are amongst people who love you and wish good things for you. This house, this town, these things are **_**yours**_**. And now that was gone for Merlin. He no longer has a home. **

**Arthur protests to this line of thought. Without question, Merlin **_**does**_** have a home. His home was in Camelot, in the castle with Arthur, where he belonged, of **_**course**_**. But the churning sickness in his stomach told him it wasn't quite the same.**

**This place is so devastatingly empty, and quiet as a grave. On Arthur's last visit, it had been brimming with love and laughter and labour; children and mothers and fathers. **

**It hadn't been fancy and it hadn't been much, but it had been healthy. It had been **_**alive**_**. It had been full of the humble, simple love of a close knit community. One where everyone pitched in and everyone looked out for each other, and everyone worked hard. Everyone shared joys... and losses.**

**And now it was gone.**

**His mother... his **_**mother**_**.**

**With little to distract him, Merlin reaches the far side of the village easily, and falls to his knees in front of a large, square, and raised mound of earth, about the size of Camelot's stables. **

**Arthur's stomach clenches in sudden nausea even though he's seen this before. **

**And judging by the look on Merlin's face, he has too. **

**It's****a mass grave.**

**Merlin is on his hands and knees, his head bent forward; making noises like he's suffocating, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. More than anything Arthur wants to console him, kneel down next to him and somehow take away the pain. Only a few nights ago Merlin had been laughing by his side in the firelight; now he lays in pieces at Arthur's feet and he stands here like the world's most useless **_**sack**_**.**

**There's no doubt in his mind that this was done by Morgana's men. Only pillagers who follow the direction of a sorceress would be superstitious enough to****bury the dead. Though the swirling sickness in his chest, a hot coal of anger burns. **

**Merlin shifts closer to the mound and, with his hands, starts digging, clawing at the earth like the home he once knew was still alive and functioning, just buried deep.**

**"Merlin." Arthur steps forward. His voice is firm, but his touch gentle. "Don't."**

**Merlin whips around, still on his knees, his face unfamiliar, twisted in its anguish. With a grunt, he shoves at Arthur's middle with all his strength. Arthur only stumbles back a step or two, but it hurts all the same. **

**He watches as Merlin rises to his feet and approaches, looking as if he would like to punch Arthur.**

**Arthur thinks he might let him.**

**But that is not what Merlin does. Eyes swimming, fists clenched, he starts making noises, the most haunting grunts, the otherworldly moan of one steeped in agony. **

**It takes a moment before something clicks in Arthur's brain and it hits him... in the absence of paper and ink, Merlin is actually attempting to **_**speak**_**. **

**He holds out his hands, helpless. "Merlin... Merlin I- I'm sorry... I don't understand..."**

**Merlin stabs one accusing finger at Arthur. "Oo!" And even on this one syllable his voice breaks.**

**His eyes are red and brimming. **

**He points just as angrily to his own head. **

**Arthur.**

**His head.**

**The wreckage.**

**"No!" Arthur protests, taking a step forward, mouth dry, "Merlin- Merlin, I **_**swear**_** to you I did not know!"**

**Merlin nods obstinately, eyes hard.**

**Arthur feels sick. "No, Merlin, I promise. I **_**promise **_**you. Ealdor is outside of Camelot's border- I didn't- **_**I swear I had no idea**_**."**

**Merlin comes forward, seizes Arthur's shoulders, and stares at him with wide eyes and quivering lips.**

**He crumples to the ground. Hands over his face, sobs rack his small body. **

**Arthur kneels. He hesitates, then tugs Merlin to his chest.**

**"I'm sorry," he manages a broken whisper, "I'm so so-"**

**But Merlin pushes him away, turns his back, cries into the dirt of his mother's grave.**

**Art****hur, heart aching, l****ets him be.**

**888**

It was late summer, when talk began to kick up like dead leaves. Trouble was stirring, rumours of a great darkness gathering in the east. A terrible, hateful power, born of the old religion, that had but one goal: to take vengeance on those who had once repressed them. To destroy Camelot.

Even Merlin, who spoke to no one and was spoken to by no one, was not deaf to the dark news. More and more often he heard a name he never thought he'd hear again, whispered either in fear or excited anticipation, the one who was going to bring justice to Albion, restore its balance, bring peace, and most importantly _magic_.

_Morgana_.

Branded as both a traitor and a witch, she now vowed to destroy the very place she had once called home. Each time he caught hushed talk of her army, the numbers seemed to double.

And Merlin knew from experience that where Morgana was, Arthur was not far behind. So it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did when Arthur's name was finally tossed out.

Merlin heard almost all of the news through Boan, at dinner. Whether he was complaining about a crop damaging storm or the neighbors (three miles away and still not far enough) Merlin was close at hand, refilling the wine or scooping out second helpings. He usually let such blatherings just wash over him as they only affected him in so much as they affected Boan's temper, but his temper was always so poor that it didn't really matter anyway. He did his work; kept his head down and mouth shut. All three were key to survival here.

But that night, that night something slipped from Boan's lips that pulled Merlin from his own little world.

"...and I _don't care_!" Boan was saying, "I don't care what King Arthur says, Camelot's soldiers aren't welcome here. They're as good as invaders!" He banged his fist on the table for emphasis. Merlin's chest constricted tightly- suddenly it was very difficult to draw breath.

_King_ Arthur?

Boan kept on, but Merlin didn't hear. He clutched meekly at the wine jug, the colour dripping slowly from his face. Arthur? Camelot? _Here_?

"The sooner he figures it out, the better. I for one am not going to tolerate-"

"Did you say Camelot?" His tongue moves of its own accord. He hadn't meant to ask, hadn't meant to say anything, but it came out, anyway.

The room went silent. The scraping of chairs and utensils ceased as every head turned to look at Merlin.

"What did you say, slave?" He asked in a low, cold voice. While it managed to send shivers down Merlin's spine, did not manage to shut him up.

"C-Camelot." He continued, unable to shut up, no matter how much he wanted to. "You said Camelot. Are there Camelot forces here?"

At the other end of the table Ellyn gave a nasty cackle. "That's right. He's _from_ Camelot. Misses his _home. _Fancy the soldiers are coming for a filthy little _slave_ like you?"

"Shut up!" Boan roared at her.

"What's going on? Does it have to do with Morgana?"

"How _dare_ you!"

Standing up from the table, Boan advanced on him, his dinner knife clutched tightly in his right hand, its flat edge still shining with grease from supper.

Backing away, Merlin desperately tried to close his mouth, but it was as if lightning had shot through him at the mention of Arthur's name and he found it difficult to stop himself babbling. "Is she close? Are the Camelot ar-"

But he swallowed the end of his question as Boan drew himself up directly in front of Merlin. His wide girth brushed uncomfortably against Merlin's thin frame. He looked away, face arranged into a tight grimace, ready for his punishment, shrinking back into the wall behind him, wishing he could sink right into it.

But Boan didn't hit him. His sweaty hand grabbed Merlin's cheeks and turned his face toward him. Merlin kept his eyes averted.

"Look at me," he growled in a stinking breath and when Merlin didn't, Boan gave him a rough shake that bounced Merlin's head off the wall. "Look at me!"

Reluctantly, Merlin did.

"You," his voice was low and unsteady in his anger, "you... you shut your mouth. You shut it or I will shut it for you."

There was a glint of silver and a low thunk as the Boan embedded the knife into the wall, only inches from Merlin's left ear.

Merlin nodded, tight lipped.

And leaving the knife there in the wall, Boan returned to his dinner.

Hours later as Merlin tossed and turned sleeplessly, there was still a tugging in his chest, as if someone was trying to sew his heart back into place. He ached. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried to accept his new life, his past wouldn't let him. Why did Camelot have to follow him like this? Why did it have to make it so much harder than it had to be?

Even if Camelot was close by, it wouldn't matter. He'd learned from experience that he couldn't escape from this place. Camelot Knights would have to come right up to Boan's door and knock on it for them to do him any good. All their presence did was make daily life harder, knowing they were so close and yet not close enough.

For the first time ever, Merlin found himself agreeing with Boan. Why couldn't they just go back to Camelot where they belonged?

**888**

**The ride back to Camelot is a lot more quiet than the first half of the journey, even by measure of traveling with a mute companion. Arthur tries several times to coax any sort of reaction out of Merlin, with no luck. **

**His smile does little to veil the desperate edge to his voice each time he tries his hand at a little conversation, whether it be light and joking, or whether he is trying to be heartfelt and comforting. He wants to connect with Merlin by any means necessary. He even relates the experience to his own losses of his mother and his father. It doesn't matter. Merlin never looks up. **

**He doesn't bother to fight Arthur on the cooking anymore, but sits against a tree and stares off into nothing as Arthur slowly and meticulously ruins their supper.**

**Food, on the other hand, seems to finally lose it's appeal to Merlin as he can hardly be bothered to eat it anymore. Arthur would have blamed his own cooking, had he not found out about Merlin's decline in taste. When a bowl finally wound up in Merlin's hands, he'd simply stare at it detachedly, his ravenous appetite suddenly apathetic. He probably wouldn't have bothered to eat at all if Arthur hadn't threatened to pour it down Merlin's unwilling throat.**

**But as bad it as it is to travel by day with this broken, despondent Merlin, it is better than the nights. **

**The sobs always begin as soon as Arthur lays his head down for the night. As quiet as they are, each one seems to echo endless in Arthur's head. **

**The last thing he wants to do is sit there and **_**listen**_** to them, but his options are quite limited. Plugging his ears, he's discovered, while muffling the noise, did very little to stop the haunting replays from bouncing around in his skull.**

**What's worse is that Merlin refuses to be comforted by words or actions. For three nights now, Arthur had tentatively crawled over to him, ready to offer his hand, his shoulder, his ear. Ready to hold or stroke or pat or... anything. He would have ventured out into the woods and brought Merlin a twelve point buck if he thought it would help.**

**But he is inconsolable. Each time Arthur touches him, he pulls away. One night, Arthur had gone so far as to lay his jacket over a shivering Merlin. He woke up to find it back over his own shoulders. It would be infuriating, if it weren't so heartbreaking.**

**Arthur does his best to not let the sting of rejection get to him. After all, Merlin isn't in his right mind. He is... confused. Agitated. Not thinking straight. **

**But it would be okay. It had to be okay. Arthur has to convince himself it would be okay or he'd never make it to the end of this forsaken trip.**

**He'd get Merlin back to Camelot... back to Gaius. Gaius would know what to do.**

**Arthur can't pretend this isn't a huge setback for Merlin. The Knights, Gaius and (Arthur liked to think) in large part himself, had set Merlin down the road to recovery. They'd got him speaking, got him to smile, got him to laugh, even. He basically had the run of the castle. Merlin woke up when he wanted, ate when he wanted, relaxed when he wanted... not even the King would deny him. **

**Then **_**this**_**... learning of not only his home town's destruction, but the brutal murder of his mother. Merlin, despite his new freedom, **_**still **_**had his magic locked away, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable. Arthur could feel all the work they had done crashing down around his ears. **

**Most worrying of all, Merlin reminded Arthur of a turtle. **_**His **_**turtle, which he had found in a creek as a young boy and unwittingly taken home as a pet. For **_**days**_** Arthur had stood stock-still in front of it, brandishing a leaf of lettuce and trying to **_**force**_** it to eat. But every time it poked itself out and saw Arthur's giant head bearing down, it quickly withdrew. **

**Eventually it died. **

**Arthur feels as though he was ten years old again, armed with nothing but lettuce. Merlin is withdrawing, and he doesn't know what to do about it.**

**Arthur is just scared that he might decide to stay that way.**

**888**

Despite the fact that Merlin was well into his second year of slavery, he knew the least about the boy closest to his age, Boan's son, Hadrian.

Merlin supposed that part of why he remained such a mystery was because they were hardly ever in the same room together. Hadrian worked out in the fields with his father, and although Merlin sometimes made an appearance there too, Hadrian liked to keep a good distance from Merlin, unlike his father, who always enjoyed keeping a close eye. When Merlin was working in the house, Hadrian stayed out of the room. In fact, the only time Merlin really ever saw him was when he was serving him dinner.

But the matter remained that Hadrian would simply not speak to Merlin. In all of Merlin's time there Hadrian had not uttered a single word in his direction. Indeed, for the first three weeks Merlin had thought him dumb until he witnessed Hadrian conversing with his Mother. (Merlin had been lighting the fire at the time, nearly fell in with shock...)

But this strange unwillingness to talk to him was the very reason that Merlin liked Hadrian best. You can't give out orders if you won't talk. Hadrian had never asked him to so much as fetch his shoes. This gave Merlin the impression that he could be a potential ally, right from the start.

However, true to his form, any conversation Merlin tried to start with him was distinctly one way, and he soon gave up not even a week into his plan.

There was more to this man than met the eye, however. Hadrian hated his father. Even though he had absolutely no proof, Merlin was _almost _certain of it. It couldn't be all in his imagination, it just couldn't. Hadrian's disapproving facade whenever he caught sight of Merlin receiving a punishment, his annoyed huffs when rough orders were barked, and the cold eye he so often settled upon his own father... No. Hadrian didn't approve of Merlin's enslavement, he couldn't. He was almost sure of it, and to ease his sore conscience he pretended that Merlin did not exist.

But even though Hadrian seemed to hate his father, even though Merlin had seen him several times staring out the window, as if wishing he was far away, (an activity he often engaged him himself) he obeyed every word out of his father's mouth, to the letter. He was practically a better slave than Merlin. Boan and Hadrian had a confusing relationship, to say the least; to be so irreversibly attached to one you regarded so poorly. Merlin often wondered if Hadrian spent each night as Merlin did in the winter- curled up with his fingers in his ears, trying to ignore the sounds from the next room over. Merlin thought he must... he slept too close to not, and it would explain some of the animosity between them.

Up to then Merlin had been content of staying out of it. What did it matter to him as long as no orders came his way? And if Hadrien really did hate his father? Well, all the more they had in common.

Up until then, he had been okay with their unspoken agreement that Merlin was invisible. There was no point in denying that Hadrian had a lot of his father in him, and Merlin was afraid of coaxing that part out of him, should he try and befriend the man. Yet this was a risk he was willing to take, having gained sufficient motivation.

He was tired of getting second hand information, tired of relying on gossip from fellow slaves with no evidence or proof. If the Camelot army was traipsing around nearby, Merlin needed to know about it.

So he decided he'd have to ask Hadrian, to try to talk to him once more.

He got his chance sooner than he'd expected. He was mucking out the stables only a few days after his decision when Hadrian came in for a horse.

Per his normal routine, he was sure to not look at Merlin as he secured it's lead, but Merlin stopped. Holding his shovel nervously in sweaty hands, he had to swallow a lump in his throat before calling out.

"Hadrian." His voice was rusty from non-use.

If Hadrian was startled, he did not show it. He did not stop, did not even pause, but went straight to the saddle and began fiddling with the girth.

"Hadrian." Still nothing, but Merlin was not disheartened. "Okay," he continued anyway, "just hear me out. All I need to know is if there Camelot soldiers in the area, Hadrian, please. You have to help me. Please understand, this could be my _last chance_ my last chance to go home... to see my mother again. I know you don't like having me around, but _you_ know that I don't enjoy being here. I used to live in Camelot... if it's in trouble... If there's anything... anything... I'm not looking for much, just some information, _please_."

He quieted after that little speech, and silence fell. Each second that passed seemed to stretch into eternity. The suspense was horrible. Hadrian did not turn around.

"_Please_, Hadrian," Merlin asked once more in a cracking voice, "You don't have to say anything... just shake or nod your head... this could be my last chance... _you_ could be my last chance..."

The girth was secure, the horse bridled. Hadrian took the reigns and paused. Merlin's heart soared in anticipation.

Hadrian took a deep breath as if to speak, and looked over his shoulder, looked over at Merlin, and fixed him with a hard stare. Merlin leaned forward eyes wide, eager. He was not going to miss a single word, not a single helpful word. There'd been precious few in the last two years.

But then he turned and exited, the horse's swishing tail a mocking laugh.

Merlin's heart plummeted.

He should have known better, he thought as he continued his mucking with renewed ferocity, he should have known better than to ask for help.

He was alone here, a lesson he'd do well to accept.

**888**

**Arthur's feet have barely touched Camelot ground ****before a dark blur flies past him so fast he swears he could feel his hair ruffle.**

**It heads straight for Merlin. After three days of deep silence and thick tension, with nothing but his own confused thoughts to keep himself occupied with, Arthur is more stressed than he realises. When he whips around with his hand on his hilt, only to find Merlin wrapped, not in the hands of an ill-wisher but in the arms of a friend, he's embarrassed, though he'd never say as much.**

**It's Gwen, back again in Camelot, returned, Arthur reasons, probably not long after his and Merlin's own departure.**

**The sight of her thick, swinging curls inevitably brings back memories of why they bounced away in the first place, and his stomach clenches uncomfortably.**

**Her arms were wrapped around a stiff and blank- faced Merlin with all the fierceness of a mother bear. Even though it had been quite some time since Arthur had heard her voice, the endless chatter streaming from her mouth now puts him at ease. Merlin is back and Gwen is back and it was almost like the days when his father was alive and all was right with his world.**

**Well. Relatively speaking.**

**"Merlin!" She is nearly breathless with excitement. "Merlin, I can't believe it! I can't believe it's you, I can't believe you're alive!"**

**Though she is clearly squeezing him rather... rather more **_**bracingly**_** than Arthur's approach, Merlin stands quietly, a cooperative doll.**

**Gwen pulls back, but only to kiss Merlin's cheeks and forehead. "Oh, Merlin," only her thick voice gives away how close she really is to tears. "I'm just so glad you're back... when Elyan told me you were alive...you could have knocked me over with a feather, and of course we came as fast as we could, but you weren't here and Gwaine said you'd gone to see your mother and you'd be back soon but really you were gone so much longer than you should have been, and of course I was so worried and..." trailing off, her eyes seem to finally take in the dilapidated state Merlin has come back in.**

**She takes in his slumped form. His entire body is drooped and tired and fading... and if he stands out here in the sun long enough, Arthur suspects he might just melt away. **

**Her eyes rove over him, and then she turns to look at Arthur and the two horses that make up their entourage, as if she is looking for someone. **

**Stable Hands are already beginning to swarm around them as she chances a small, questioning glance back at Arthur. He gives an imperceivable shake of his head. **

**Turning back, Gwen pursed her lips. "Right," she says, and she takes a step back to run a hand through Merlin's long and shaggy hair. "Right. Well, Merlin," she forces a smile and it nearly cracks her face in two. "Clearly, Arthur still doesn't know how to clean up properly. Look at the state of your hair." She takes a piece between her thumb and finger to examine. **

**Arthur hears the tone of her voice and he knows she was teasing. He knows she is just trying to lighten the dark look on Merlin's face. **

**But it hurts anyway. **

**Gwen takes Merlin by the hand and gently pulls him toward the castle. "Come on then," she says, "let's get you cleaned up."**

**888**

"**There we are!" Gwen exclaims as she finally finds the scissors she's been looking for. She snips them a few times in her hand, experimentally.  
**

**Merlin watches from the center of the room, in the chair he has been instructed to sit in. His eyes follow Gwen as she comes over to face him and bends down, her hands on her knees, to look him in the face.**

"**You are going to look very handsome when I'm done with you." She promises, a giant smile on her face.**

**She vanishes from sight, and then two warm, soft hands are drifting gently though Merlin's hair, nuzzling against his scalp, fluffing out his overgrown locks. Merlin lets his heavy eyelids fall shut as that familiarly exuberant voice washes over him, a reminder of happy things with a promise of more to come. And Merlin loves the sound of it. Because it's not faked, it's not forced... it's just... Gwen. How he'd missed her... **

"**...not that you're not already handsome," Gwen is saying now, "but you know, I just **_**don't**_** think long hair really suits you, Merlin." She takes a strand between her thumb and forefinger and stretches it out, **_**tsk**_**ing when it almost draws level with his chin. **

"**They hide those lovely cheekbones of y- **_**oh!**_** Merlin! You scared me!"**

**For, quick as a flash, Merlin's hand had shot out and captured Gwen's, tugging to bring it eye-level with his face. Gently, he turns it, and when he sees what he's looking for his lips twitch slightly. **

**Almost triumphantly, Merlin raises up her hand as if to show her, tapping at the small gold band wrapped around her ring finger.**

**Behind him, Gwen blushes. **

"**Yes, alright, I got married... don't be so surprised." She has a piece of his hair between her fingers, but it slides away as Merlin leans across the table, suddenly eager for his quill and parchment. **

**She leans over his shoulder, frowning as she tries to decipher his messy scrawl as it works its way across the paper. **

_**He's not good enough for you. **_

"**Merlin!" She laughs. He can **_**hear**_** the warmth in her voice, and it seeps into his bones. "That's sweet... but he's wonderful, he really is. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Cyfinwich." **

**Merlin settles back into the chair, ready to listen to her story as the scissors in Gwen's hand are finally put to use and the first lock of Merlin's hair floats to the ground. **

"**I had just moved in. I had this shabby little house on the edge of town... a little run down, but it was cheap and it had everything I needed. **

"**The only problem was that I was running low on money, and I was having trouble finding a job. I was knocking on all these doors, asking everyone around... but no luck. I got a few doors slammed in my face, and I was feeling a bit lonely, just wondering around the market, very homesick and very upset, worrying that I made a huge mistake in coming here and perhaps I should just go home after all, when something caught my eye. **

"**There was a man, a blacksmith. He was working on this set of keys. The sun was just start to set behind him, and the light was filtering past him... and you could see the sweat glistening on his skin... and... and his shirt was low cut, and when he moved in just the right way..." she gave a shaky sigh, her hands pausing, just for a second, in Merlin's hair.**

**"But," she continues in a stronger, more straightforward tone, "that's not what **_**really**_** caught my eye."**

**Her hands begin to move once more. Gwen's voice is slowly rising to fill not only the emptiness in the room but also, just maybe, some of the emptiness in Merlin, too.**

**"What **_**really**_** caught my attention was the fact that he was using double-chambered forge bellows instead of double-acting bellows. I mean, I know the double-chamber is cheaper, but is the disrupted air stream really worth it?" **

**She shakes her head. "My poor father... he'd been **_**spinning**_** in his grave if he knew. When he was a blacksmith, he never cut any corners. He was- well. Anyway, I took it upon myself to let him know he was making a huge mistake. Once a blacksmith's daughter, always a blacksmith's daughter, I suppose." She chuckles to herself. **

"**So when I pointed it out, in my most polite voice of course, he wasn't very grateful, no... started going on about how I didn't know anything about forging and how I was only a women and how if I could do a better job than him he'd give me the whole bloody shop. So naturally, I did just that: I shooed him out of my way and started on my own set of keys. You should have seen his face when I finished. I mean they may have **_**looked**_** pretty similar, but any halfway decent blacksmith would have been able to see that mine were better. But instead of thanking me, he got all red and embarrassed, gasping like a fish out of water. Then he just turned around, marched inside and slammed the door in my face. **

"**You can imagine how incensed I was, but I mean there was nothing else for it. I didn't expect to lay claim to a shop that was offered in a bet in the middle of an argument, but a thank you would have been nice at least. They were fabulous keys if I do say so myself... But after that, I just wandered on home.**

"**Then guess who showed up on my doorstep the next morning, looking all abashed (as he should, of course) with his hat in his hands... and **_**flowers**_** no less. Said he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to let his temper get the better of him and that he was actually really thankful for the advice since he'd just inherited this forge from an estranged Uncle and he didn't even really know anything about being a blacksmith except for what he'd researched himself, and would I like to come and work for him at his shop.**

"**I didn't have any better offers, well I didn't have any other offers at all, so I said yes. And it turned out that he's really sweet. Very considerate... He gave me more than a reasonable rate, and days off whenever I needed. He had a few other... misconceptions about what woman could and could not do, but I took great pleasure in proving all of**_** those**_** wrong. **

"**You know, now that I think on it, he's a bit like Arthur... prideful, but willing to admit when he was wrong, after he calmed down a bit... hot-headed, you know? And don't you remember how Arthur used to think women couldn't fight until he was **_**beaten**_** by a woman in tournament? Well I suppose it's a bit like that, isn't it? They're **_**both**_** very aware of how much women can do now. After all, he could barely run the shop before I came along.**

**"I taught him some and he taught me some... and together we made it work. You'd like him, Merlin. He's an honest man; a hard worker. And he's good to me. Buys me nice dresses and things. Never rude or unkind... never lays a hand on me. He's good to me. A bit quick-tempered, but I love that about him. I love him, and he treats me like a princess."**

**It was less the story and more Gwen's tone, honest and open, that convinces Merlin that she really does love him. He doesn't doubt her husband's love for her... surely nobody who does meet her could avoid falling in love with someone so beautiful, inside and out. For a few seconds there is silence, broken only by the metallic scraping of the scissors, as Merlin processes everything that Gwen said. **

**Moving to Cyfinwich by herself, helping to run a forgery, just as her father once did, falling in love, getting married... compared to what he'd been up to for the past years, it seemed like a whimsical fairy tale, a happy life he dared not even wish for. **

**And yet... and yet... something is bugging him, even so. **

'**He treats me like a princess.'****She'd said. **

**He reaches for his paper. **

_**But you could have been a real princess. **_

**She puts the scissors down, and her fingers run through his hair for a moment. The touch feels heavenly- intimate, yet kind, not pushing, not asking for anything. Friendship, caring, in its truest form.**

"**I'm not sure what you mean, Merlin. Here." Those fingers disappear for a moment, only to return in front of his face this time clutching a mirror. **

"**What do you think?" **

**Merlin takes it and gives a glance and wan smile that's definitely more for Gwen than it is for him before putting it face down, back on the table. He reaches for his paper again.**

_**Why did you say no when Arthur proposed?**_

**Gwen blushes. "Don't be silly, Merlin. Arthur didn't **_**propose**_** to me."**

**Merlin turns around in his chair, fixing Gwen with a dubious look, one that told her he clearly didn't believe her for a second.**

**She grimaces and moves over to the bed where she sinks with a flap of her skirt and a deep sigh.**

"**Alright, fine, he did propose." **

**Merlin flashes a triumphant grin. He scribbles another sentence underneath the first before bringing it over to her. **

_**What happened? I thought you liked him?**_

"**I did like him, Merlin," she says, placing the paper on the bed next to her, "It's not so simple." **

**Merlin holds out his hands, motioning expectantly. After all, **_**someone**_** had to catch him up on all he missed. **

**Gwen sighs again and flops back on the bed**_**. **_

"**Alright. We were together for a while, and I thought I had seen every side of him, but after you... **_**left, **_**he... changed." The mattress shifts slightly as Merlin sits next to her, and after a moment she continues. **

"**He was... different. Still prideful, still driven, but somehow his attitude had changed. He wasn't as...**_**cheerful**_**, he wasn't as **_**happy.**_** He never smiled or joked around... I don't think he ever got over losing you. He didn't seem to really care about anything anymore, he just... he kept everyone at an arm's length; like after you were gone he didn't trust anyone not to just up and leave him.**

"**Then, of course, his Father died. He didn't talk to anyone for **_**days**_**, not even me. He was inconsolable. After he got coronated, there was a lot of pressure on him to settle down and pick a queen. Things between us hadn't been the same for a long time, and honestly, I was expecting him to break it off, choose a proper lady, a duchess or something, you know, but he didn't. He proposed to me, but... he wasn't the same man that I had fallen in love with. He was emptier, like he was only proposing because he was **_**expected**_** to. He hadn't been the Arthur **_**I**_** knew for a while and I... I couldn't do it. **

"**Course it didn't take long before the whole Kingdom found out that the King had proposed to a servant girl and she had said **_**no**_**. Well, you can imagine all the ridicule I got, a crazy servant girl turning down a **_**King.**_** I didn't care, though. I wasn't going to marry him just because he's King. I couldn't do that to him... and I couldn't do that to myself. I left soon after that. Not because of what people were saying about me, mind you, but because I just couldn't stand being around Arthur. It felt like I was the third person to leave him, and I couldn't stand knowing that I had disappointed him like that, and then see him everyday. It was heart-wrenching. Plus how could I get over him if I was constantly around him? It was hard, but I'd do it again. I love Cyfinwich; I love my life there and I love my husband."**

**There's a gentle **_**floomph**_** and Merlin is laying by her side, a contemplative look on his face. **

**Gwen smiles and reaches over to touch his cheek, as if with one simple touch she could erase from his mind and body all the horrors he had been through.**

**She sits up, and Merlin follows. **

"**Never mind Arthur for now." She says seriously, "I'm just glad you're back, Merlin. You've been through so much... I just want you to know I'm here for you, if you ever need me. And I- I'm so sorry, Merlin. For everything, **_**everything**_**, I'm so sorry." **

**She embraces him then, tight against her chest, and the tears that dampen her dress come from more than one set of eyes.**

**888**

Merlin's blood boiled sluggishly, thick and hot like mud.

His jaw ached, tired from grinding his teeth.

An anger was living in his chest, and everyday it grew. Everyday it curled a little tighter; a little closer to springing, to striking.

Everyday, the man he'd served so loyally, the man he'd painstakingly pushed toward glory, the man whose destiny was entwined with his own, the man he'd risked life and limb for, his best friend, the hope and promise of a better future- not for _him_ but for generations to come...was defamed at the table.

Boan was neither a fan of Arthur's, nor a friend of Camelot's, and he didn't have any reservations about explaining his views.

Every night.

As Merlin served him food and wine, he listened as his home, listened as the thing he most desired in the world was desanctified, cut down and spat on.

Every night.

It burdened his soul to the point where he could take no more.

"Their King is nothing more but a _boy playing dress up._ He puts on his father's crown and thinks himself tall! He'll get what he deserves all right, sending his guards over here, turning _our_ village upside down looking for this witch, spreading his own problems around as if we haven't enough of them ourselves! He never should have let her out of his sight!"

As he filled Boan's cup Merlin tried to keep his hands from shaking, jaw closed tight. He'd never been great at holding his tongue in anger; Arthur had complained about his big mouth enough times for him to know. He'd had the weight of the whip hanging over his head to help keep his head cool, but even that seemed to shrink when compared to the grievances spoken against his homeland.

"He should have killed her when he had the chance, but _no_! He let her go instead, showing her _mercy_," he scoffed. "Soft! That's what he is! I hear they're related, ain't they? Half his blood sister, is she? That's no excuse, no excuse at all! He's a coward! He's weak! And he'll run Camelot into the bloody gr-"

"_You're wrong!_" It was not a calm comment, not a planned statement. It came from inside him like projectile vomit... impossible to swallow back. The wine jug was no longer in his hands but he could not remember putting it down.

Boan's eyes grew so wide, Merlin feared they were in danger of popping out of his skull.

"What? _What did you say to me?"_ Boan stands up from the table so fast he jarrs it, sending plates and food bits diving to the floor.

He's going to get it. He's going to get it. He's going to get it so bad.

He backs up to the wall, but his mouth doesn't come with him.

"You're wrong!" He screamed it, screamed it from his bones even as he moved back, away from Boan's coiled fists. "Arthur is the Once and Future King! He's going to unite the lands of Albion!"

Boan advanced on him, and Merlin's voice began to falter.

"He- he will be remembered forever because of his mercy and fairness and goodness, and it's people like _you_, evil and stupid and cruel who- who-"

"I've had enough of this!" Boan roared, grabbing Merlin by his collar, "Enough of your thieving and _lying,_ and enough _of that tongue of yours!" _

With one strong hand, he hauls Merlin over to the table, and with one great swipe of the other arm, everything not already on the floor quickly finds its way there.

His head was pressed against the tabletop as, for the second time, he's bent over it's edge.

Hadrian and Ellyn both watch, still in their respective chairs though both had the intelligence to scoot back a few feet. Ellyn looked on with her usual cold indifference, Hadrian, a tight lipped silence.

Merlin lay still. He did not struggle as both wrists were pulled behind his back. His heart slammed in his chest, beating against his ribs like it, too, wanted out. He could feel a coldness in his gut like a block of ice, even as beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead and under his clothes.

Never before in all his years had he been in so much trouble, so alone, and so utterly defenceless.

He felt almost detached, from his body, from his situation, from the world. He barely noticed the rope encircling his wrists in a deadly tight embrace. And he watched, from someone else's eyes as Boan, one hand still pressing on Merlin's face, scrambled down on the floor for something. Somewhere a door clicked shut, and Merlin couldn't help but wonder which member of his audience had fled.

Then Boan straightened up, the butcher's knife he clutched in his fat fist glinted in the light of the candles. It was fatally sharp. Merlin would know... he had whetted it.

He eyed its edge, detached. He wondered which limb was going to come off, a finger, an ear, a hand... or perhaps even his entire head.

If he was to die tonight, then so be it. He hadn't been afraid to die for Arthur while he was in Camelot, and he wasn't afraid now. It was oddly fitting, really.

His destiny, coming to light at last.

But Boan didn't reach for his neck.

His hand instead reached for his mouth, pulled at his jaw, the knife still posed in his other hand.

And then it clicked.

_His tongue. _Boan was going to cut out his tongue.

His jaw instantly tightened. Panic began to set in, suddenly everything was too real and too bright, and happening much much too quickly. He started to struggle, trying vainly to rise from the table, to untie his wrists, to get free.

His tongue, his tongue, his tongue, please no, no, no, he was going to cut off his tongue, he was going to cut off his tongue. No, no, no, please, no, no, _please..._ How could this have happened? How could he have ended up here, on this dirty table, about to have his face mutilated by a madman and, he'd really rather just be killed. He couldn't even save Freya, how could he possibly save himself? How had he become so weak, so useless, so powerless.

Boan struggled with him now, trying to keep him still and open his mouth at the same time, but Merlin was stubbornly resisting, teeth shut together so tight he thought his jaw might break.

_Please no... please..._

Hadn't he suffered enough? Couldn't the journey end here?

"Hadrian!" Boan called roughly, "Help me, hold him down!"

White faced, forehead glistening, Hadrian paused.

And Merlin dared hope.

A fatal flaw. Hadrian rose, and obeyed.

Then their short battle was over before it had begun. With Boan in front of him and Hadrian behind, Merlin had no chance... and he was so weak... They pinned him down, restrained him, and Merlin could barely move, though that didn't stop him from trying. He was like a cow, a cow ready for the slaughter. He'd never felt so vulnerable. His blood was like worms in his veins, wriggling through his body. His eyes prickled, and he could feel sweat rolling down his forehead to the table.

Even so, they couldn't cut out his tongue if they couldn't get his mouth open, and Merlin was keeping his resolutely closed.

Boan's fingers fought against his lips, causing Merlin's chapped lips to burn but he didn't open his mouth. His breaths were coming fast and hard like he had been running, lifting his chest up from the wooden surface slightly.

"Hadrian, his nose!" Boan's voice was strained.

Two cold, clammy fingers came down and pinched his nose shut.

He held out as long as his could- until it felt like his lungs were collapsing, deflating. Suffocation would be better than what awaited him here, wouldn't it?

But his body betrayed him. His mouth opened in a gasp for air.

"Please," he gasped in a breaking voice, before the hands had a chance to pounce, his eyes roving from Boan, back to a Hadrian, who he couldn't see. His neck jerked endless, trying to pull his head away. "I'm sorry, please, no, _please-_" They were the last words he ever spoke.

Fingers were in his mouth and they pried his jaws open, open until he thought it might snap off. Hadrian's front pressed against his back, effective both in holding him down and keeping his hands free to occupy Merlin's mouth. His stomach pressed heavily into the table edge, and it ached painfully.

His tongue was pulled from his mouth and the tip of a knife was inserted, so sharp his flinched.

Sweat and tears were keeping his face hot and stuck to the table, and now blood joined the mix, and Merlin spluttered as it flooded his mouth, hot and metallic, as it made its way down his throat, choking him.

It spread across the table in front of him, a thick red pool.

And the pain... the pain... unbearable. He was screaming deep in his throat, screaming until his whole body felt raw with agony. He writhed like a worm stuck on a pin, no longer able to keep himself up but it was okay because someone else was. Someone was killing him, killing him and they were starting with his tongue. He began to lose sight of who he was and where he was and who was doing this to him... he just knew unending, searing pain, and he would have said anything, bowed to anyone, to get it to end.

But it didn't end for hours; even after his tongue was gone and he had stuffed a few rags in his mouth to stop the bleeding. It still hurt; his entire head throbbed with a pounding, pounding pain like someone had used his mouth as an anvil.

It didn't stop.

It would never stop.

**888**

**Arthur decides, in his most astute and professional opinion, as King of Camelot, that it was completely unfair. He stares into the fire now, chin firmly in hand, thinking over every way in which he had been wronged.**

**All day long he had had to endure as Merlin and Gwen got along spectacularly. The two of them spent much of the day together with Gaius, with Arthur popping in whenever he could find an excuse to run down between meetings. Gwen would give Merlin smiles and small comforting touches and hugs... and Merlin would give them back! It isn't that Arthur's jealous of their friendship, of course. It was just that, well, he didn't understand it. **

**Why did Merlin wrap his arms around Gwen yet, when Arthur had tried to comfort him in the same way, he had resisted in every sense of the word. It didn't make sense. Actually, all things considered, it was a bit infuriating. **

**After all, when it came to Merlin, Arthur really felt like he had left no stone unturned. Even his **_**jacket**_** had been deemed unworthy to sleep under and now Gwen comes along and Merlin's more than happy to let her pamper him and cut his hair and smile (albeit sadly) at her over his dinner plate.**

**The only possible conclusion he could come to was that Merlin was in love with Gwen. He had, after all, been very close to her when he'd been kidnapped. Perhaps he'd had feelings for her that Arthur hadn't known about.**

**This possible solution made Arthur frown in displeasure. He thought he knew why, though he didn't like to dwell on it. But if it was love that made Merlin so agreeable, than Arthur thought he could understand his pain, because it was a love destined to go unrequited. Gwen was married now, and lived a least a week's worth of travel away. **

**But if that was the case, why hadn't Merlin demanded to see her sooner? Packed up his bags and set off like he had for his mother? The whole thing was confusing at best. **

**Arthur is twirling a letter opener around in his fingers and it catches in the firelight, glinting up at him all too happily for Arthur's taste. He's just about to give the whole thing up and turn in for the night when there's a timid knock at his door. **

**George not doubt, coming to tuck him in bed or fetch him a drink or sing him a lullaby... Arthur sits himself straighter in his armchair before answering. **

"**Come in."**

**But it's not George who enters, it's Gwen, looking hesitant and a little unsure of herself. **

"**Gwen," he manages in surprise, and she gives him a wan smile. **

"**Sire," she says, executing a perfect curtsey. **

"**Don't do that Gwen," Arthur says rolling his eyes, "and call me Arthur, please."**

"**I just thought you'd want to know," she says straightening, "that Merlin's just gone to bed. Gaius said you like to be, ah, updated."**

"**Oh, has he? I didn't hear him walk past." **

"**He didn't. He wanted to sleep in his old bed tonight. At Gaius's." **

"**Oh." Arthur deflates a bit. "Wanted to get away a little further, did he?" He asked moodily.**

"**Arthur what on earth are you talking about?" Gwen asks, coming in a bit further and closing the door behind her. **

**Arthur sighs, finally putting aside the letter opener. "Nothing, I just... I don't get why he's being like this."**

"**Being like what?"**

"**Like... with **_**you**_**, Gwen, I don't get it! I've been trying to- to help him for **_**days**_** now and he's, he's turned away, pulled away, **_**ran**_** away, refuses to talk to me, barely **_**looks**_** at me... and I thought he was just grieving, and then, and then **_**you**_** come along and he's okay! I just... not that I blame you or anything, Gwen, I'm glad he's improving, really... I... I suppose he's just... I suppose he just likes you more." He finishes, looking away. **

**Gwen fiddles with her fingers, coming forward to lean on Arthur's bedpost. "I don't think that's it at all, Arthur. Haven't you talked to him? About what happened, I mean?"**

"**No!" Arthur cries in frustration, flinging his hands in the air. "Because he won't! He barely writes down anything, and he doesn't say a word about what happened to him in the last four years! I mean, I got a bit out of him about his leg... but I don't want to push him, either. I just don't know what to do anymore. He doesn't seem to want to stay here, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go, does he?" Arthur rubs his temples. "I just wish he would tell me why he's avoiding me..." **

"**Arthur," Gwen says in a tone that implies he should already know, "He's **_**afraid**_** of you."  
**

**Arthur is dumbfounded. "**_**Afraid**_** of me? What are you talking about, afraid of me? He can't be! I- I haven't done anything! I-! He has to know I would **_**never**_** do anything to hurt him! How can that possibly be?" **

"**Well," Gwen says gently, "he's been through a lot, and-"**

"**I **_**know**_**, Gwen," Arthur interrupts heatedly.**

"**Please, Arthur, we did a lot of talking, well, actually, I did a lot of talking, Merlin did a lot of writing, and he told me a lot about what happened and... and I think that he's afraid of what you might think of him after what he's been through." Artur opens his mouth to argue, but Gwen holds up her hand to stop him. "I know it doesn't make any sense to you, Arthur, but he's not the same person he was when he left. It's degrading, what he went through, being enslaved like he was. I don't think he came out of it with a lot of dignity left, and I think that he's scared you might think less of him if you knew what he's been doing to survive these past years. After all, you're a King now, aren't you? You're different now too, and he **_**knows**_** it. Maybe he's scared that he doesn't have the same level of friendship he did when left. Plus..." she trails off. **

"**What, Gwen?"**

**She bites her lip. "I don't think I'm supposed to say..."**

**He rises from his armchair, coming over over to grip her arms. "Gwen, please, if it's information that'll help Merlin..."**

"**Ooh," Her face wrinkles, "Arthur don't you get it? He **_**waited**_** for you." **

"**What do you mean, waited for me?"**

"**He **_**waited**_**! For four years, every single day he waited for you to come and find him, rescue him! Every day might be the day that you would come and crash the door down and take him home to Camelot. He watched you hunt down countless bandits and animals without a problem and then when it came to him... maybe he thought you just didn't care, that he was just a servant after all." **

**Arthur gapes at her. "That's preposterous!" He declares after a moment. Shaking his head, he begins to pace wildly about the room. "Gwen, we searched for **_**years**_**! There was nothing, absolutely nothing, there was no bloody **_**trail**_** to follow, or don't you think I would have? I nearly exhausted the treasury, half the bloody kingdom was out looking!"  
**

"**I **_**know**_** Arthur," shes says gently, "I remember. But did you ever tell Merlin?"**

**He looks at her stupidly. "Ah, no." He says, finally. "No, I suppose I didn't... like I said, we don't really talk... about... about what happened... **_**after**_**... that much..."**

**Gwen smiles. "Well tell him, Arthur. Maybe he'll surprise you." **

**Arthur remains silent, and Gwen heads for the door. Right before exiting, she turns.**

"**I know how much Merlin means to you and how much you mean to him. I'd hate for you to lose each other." **

**After the door clicks shut, Arthur sinks onto the edge of the bed, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. **

**Could what Gwen said be true? Could Merlin actually be scared of Arthur? He could hardly digest the thought. **

**Could he really mean something to Merlin? **

**He laid back onto the bed and turned his head to the window. The moon, nearly choked by dark clouds, stares back helplessly. **

**Tomorrow then, Arthur decides as he turns his face away. Tomorrow he would talk to Merlin and sort this whole thing out. **

**And then everything would be okay.**

* * *

You get a fourth thank you for making it all the way to the end! Thank you!


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